


The Missing Piece

by Cdelphiki



Series: The Story of Maxwell George [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman and Robin (Comics), DCU
Genre: Adoption, Angst, Bat Family, Bruce Wayne is a Good Dad, Child Abuse, Gen, Healing, Homelessness, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-03-26 15:58:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 74,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13861116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cdelphiki/pseuds/Cdelphiki
Summary: Somehow, kids keep seeming to find Bruce Wayne and add themselves to his family.  After Damian, however, Bruce thought he was done "collecting orphans."  That is, until a sassy little seven-year-old entered his life.  It isn't until this energetic and opinionated tike joins the family does Bruce realize how incomplete his life was before.  Can little Maxwell George fix Bruce's family?  Or is he just another orphan to add to Batman's collection of broken people?





	1. At First Sight

It was a beautiful late-May day. A rare treat in Gotham. The sun was shining brilliantly through the tall buildings surrounding them, and the sound of birds chirping all around was music to Bruce's ears. He watched as they flitted from tree to tree, like islands in the vast cement landscape that was the city of Gotham. What’s more rare than a beautiful day was the chance to spend it with Tim. 

He hadn’t seem much of the seventeen-year-old since he came back from being lost in time. Heck. He hadn’t seen much of the kid since Damian had showed up. Sure, Tim was a business partner, and they did plenty of work together, but Bruce never saw Tim, his son. He missed Tim, missed his smile, his laugh, and his quirky comments. So, right now, Bruce was marveling in the boy’s presence, committing every detail of the afternoon to memory. He had learned in far too painful of ways not to take his boys for granted.

Tim looked from his phone to his mentor and raised an eyebrow. “Something wrong?” he asked, slightly taken back by the man’s concentrated gaze. They had just sat down at a café in downtown Gotham, with the intent on having a late lunch on the patio outside. 

“No, nothing,” Bruce replied, smiling. “What are you having?” 

“Coffee.” Tim scrunched his eyebrows and glared at the menu for a moment, “and maybe a panini.” 

Bruce hummed and set to looking over the menu himself. “A panini does sound good.” 

A moment later, the waiter greeted them and asked for the order. After exchanging pleasantries and ordering two paninis, a cup of tea, and a coffee, Bruce and Tim were once again relatively alone.

Even while out as Bruce Wayne, he never was unaware of his surroundings. At that moment there were four other occupied tables, out of the twelve on the terrace, and a total of seven customers sitting at those four tables. Two tables were sitting silently, and the other two were carrying on muted conversations. Mostly small talk. One man was talking on his cell phone, clearly a business call, but was being ignored by the others at his table. Other people were walking down the street, heading this way or that. No one was acting suspiciously. Maybe the waiter seemed a little nervous, but that was likely due to recognizing Bruce Wayne as being his customer. Bruce wouldn’t blame him for being a little nervous.

“How are you, Tim?” Bruce asked, taking a sip from his tea once the waiter brought it out. He grimaced. It was nothing compared to Alfred’s, but then again no one could hold a candle to Alfred’s cooking skills.

Tim laughed “I’m fine, Bruce. Is that why you invited me to lunch? To ask me how I am?”

“No. I wanted to spend time with you. I hardly ever see you.” Bruce smiled and mixed a bit more sugar into his tea. Maybe the sweetness could cover the awful bitter flavor of the tea.

“We see each other every day, Bruce.”

“Work doesn’t count.” Bruce smiled again. He was momentarily distracted by a movement in the shadows of the alley a block up. He squinted and glared at the shadow, daring it to move again, but nothing happened. Must have been a trick of the light, he thought. Hopefully. He’d hate to ruin the afternoon with a Batman thing.

Tim sighed and took a sip of his coffee. “All I ever seem to do is work anymore. I don’t know how you’ve keep at it for twenty years, Bruce.”

Bruce returned his attention to his son’s face. He looked so tired. The dark circles under his eyes weren’t very noticeable, but that’s likely due to make up. Tim had a habit of putting make up on to conceal them. Bruce hated that he did that. Not because he found anything wrong with it, per se, but because he knew why Tim even knew how to use make up so effectively without anyone even guessing he had it on. No child should know how to cover marks on their body so well. It wasn’t right. He took a deep breath and pushed away those thoughts. No sense in letting the guilt over every bump and bruise Tim ever received as Robin sour his good day.

“I know I’ve got you guys at home waiting for me.”

Tim snorted, the smile on his face crinkling his nose up, and the twinkle that appeared in his dazzling gray eyes was probably one of Bruce’s favorite things to see. “Wow. That was sappy,” Tim retorted. 

Bruce grinned. “You don’t have to be working yet, Tim. You’re only 17. You can go to college, get a degree. Take a break. _Enjoy_ your youth.”

Tim rolled his eyes and slumped his shoulders. “Bruce. Can we please not talk about this now?”

“You’re right. What would you like to talk about?”

Tim opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by the waiter.

“Your paninis. Can I get you anything else? More coffee, sir?” 

“More coffee would be fabulous, thanks.” Tim said, with a kind smile directed at the waiter.

“Tea for you, sir?” the waiter said, still clearly a bit nervous to be talking to the Bruce Wayne.

“God no.” Bruce quipped, slipping into his playboy attitude, “Could you just bring me some water? Thanks, pal.”

“Uh, yes of course,” the poor boy said, eyes a little wide, “I’ll be right back.” 

“Rude.” Tim said as he inspected his meal.

Bruce shrugged and ate a chip off his plate. Freshly made, impressive, he thought, but not quite worth the effort. Mid-thought, his attention was drawn to the shadows of the alley again. 

While he was squinting at the dark wall, the waiter came and gave him a glass of water and refilled Tim’s coffee. Tim kindly thanked the man and Bruce just hummed in acknowledgement. He returned his attention back to his son, but made sure to keep at least some of his concentration on the alley. He knew something was over there, but wasn’t sure what. There is no way he saw movement twice in the same place for it to just be nothing.

While he and Tim conversed back and forth about meaningless topics; the weather, the latest baseball game, an upcoming gala, Bruce watched the shadows. 

As if rewarded for his patience, he finally saw it, and was slightly surprised by what he saw. A small child. The kid couldn’t have been six and was dressed in well worn clothes a bit too big for him. The hem of his jeans were ruined beyond repair from walking on the ends, and there was a significant rip in one of the knees. His red hoody, which had the Flash’s symbol on it, was ratty, the drawstring missing and the seam of the pocket coming undone. His black converse shoes weren’t terrible looking, but the laces and white toes of the sneakers weren’t exactly white anymore. The boy moved quickly and silently from his hiding place in the alley to another spot half a block away, behind some trash bins, and completely disappeared behind them. Bruce’s heart ached. He hated seeing kids like that. It always reminded him of Jason, back when the man was a small boy on the streets of Gotham. During his work as Batman, he had seen hundreds of homeless kids. Street kids. It never got easier. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the young boy step into sync behind two adults walking up the street, hand in hand. Clearly the couple hadn’t spotted the boy, because neither turned around. Now it looked as if it were a small family walking up the street. Bruce smiled a bit and wondered what the child was doing. The couple continued walking toward Bruce, and eventually passed by the small café. The small boy slipped past a table two behind Tim, where a family had just left a few minutes prior. Almost too quickly to see, the child grabbed three rolls from the basket in the middle of the table and shoved them into his hoody pocket, then continued following the couple as if nothing had happened. Bruce turned to watch the child once he had passed by, and just as quickly as he had appeared, the boy disappeared into the shadows of the alley beside the café. 

Tim raised an eyebrow. “What was that?”

With a frown, Bruce said “Don’t know. He just stole some rolls though.” He sighed and looked down at his own food, suddenly not hungry. He hated knowing children were starving, especially children so young as that one. He looked back at the alley and wondered if he could find the kid. Maybe give him his panini, but knew the kid was already long gone from here. Probably bolted the second he was out of sight. 

With another sigh Bruce asked “You done?”

Tim nodded, so they both stood up as Bruce dropped a $100 on the table. He saw the waiter walking out toward the table and knew the kid would collect the money before someone else could grab the bill and bolt. 

As they were walking toward the Bentley parked a couple blocks over, the waiter hollered “Thank you, sir! Have a nice day!” Bruce smiled and waved at the kid, without turning his head back. He _had_ just left an $80 tip. 

\----

The rest of the day turned out to be rather hectic. Lucius called while Bruce was driving home to tell him about the threats of one Paul Donaldson, the owner of company Wayne Enterprises had a contract with. With the phone on speaker, Bruce and Tim discussed the plan for dealing with the issue, and he and Tim ended up having to go into the office. On a Saturday. On a beautiful Saturday. One Bruce had set aside for family time. They even missed dinner. But at the end of the day, Donaldson found his contract cancelled, and Wayne Enterprises had saved four million dollars and secured another company to provide the manufacturing services Donaldson had been supplying WE before. That’s what happens when people threaten Bruce Wayne. 

When Tim and Bruce arrived home at 9pm, Bruce found Jason and Damian sitting in the den. Damian was curled up in an armchair drawing in his sketchbook and Jason was laying on a couch, almost upside down with is right leg draped up over the back of the couch and his head dangling off the edge, reading _The Road to Wigan Pier._ Bruce’s chest tightened as he realized he had just missed a rare dinner with Jason. He drank in the scene, two of his boys sitting in a room together, not killing each other, and his second son so clearly relaxed and comfortable in his home. Bruce knew both boys were aware of his presence. No one could sneak up on anyone in this house, unless that person was asleep or terribly ill. That was good. It was a necessary skill to have, but it also made it impossible to enjoy moments like these very long. 

“Gonna stare all night, old man?” Jason said, as he turned a page in his book. 

Bruce sighed and took a seat on the empty sofa near Damian. Jason twitched and sat up.

“I’m sorry I missed dinner, boys,” Bruce finally said. 

Damian looked up from his sketchbook and scowled. “Father. You are disturbing my work.”

Bruce frowned. How was he doing that? He just came to see his boys. “What are you drawing?” he asked.

Instead of telling him, Damian tipped his sketchbook toward Bruce. The drawing was magnificent. Bruce was always impressed by the skill Damian demonstrated, but it seemed every drawing was better than the last. This one was a detailed sketch of Jason laying on the couch, reading. Bruce smiled at the thought of Damian enjoying his time with his older brother so much he spent the time to capture every small detail with his pencil. With every stroke of his hand, Damian was declaring his love for his brother and the company he shared with him, even if he didn’t realize he was doing so. Now Bruce understood how he was 'disturbing' Damian. He had caused Jason to be uncomfortable and sit up.

“Demon Brat’s been drawing me this whole time? Creepy.” Jason said, with a grin on his face that said he understood what the gesture meant just as well as Bruce did. 

“Do not flatter yourself, Todd, I am merely practicing drawing live subjects.” Damian scoffed, 

“Of course.” Jason laughed, "Do I need to lay back out, like some french girl?"

"What does being French have to do with anything?" Damian asked, almost too innocently.

Jason laughed a deep laugh that brought a smile to Bruce's face. Not wanting to ruin his boys' time, he decided to leave the room again so Jason wouldn't run off. “Well. Patrol is in an hour," he said, "make sure you're ready in time.” 

Bruce went to the kitchen in hopes of finding some leftovers dinner. It was a success, and, as was far too common, he ate dinner alone at the kitchen island while he mentally prepared himself for patrol that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I am being slightly creative with the timeline here. Cass isn't around, and the story is going to revolve mostly around Bruce, Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian and the new kid. I'm leaving out the whole Damian died thing, that's too much for the story, and am making Jason be a bit more like rebirth Jason, where he just randomly hangs out at the manor and picks on Damian like a brother should. 
> 
> I have about half of the chapters written, and the other half outlined or summarized, but I am constantly editing and fixing things to help with the flow and story progression. This is the first time I've ever written a fanfic. I always create my own characters when I write, so this is a whole new thing for me! Please give me feedback on whether I'm keeping the boys in character, and I'm always open to suggestions! Thanks!


	2. Lunch Companion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So a seven-year-old might not be the typical lunch companion of a businessman, but Bruce quite enjoyed his lunch hour.

Bruce spent the next couple weeks eating lunch at the little café. It was only a few blocks from Wayne Tower and was an easy walk for a relaxing lunch break, something he had forgone years ago. Sometimes a colleague would accompany him, but usually he ate alone. It was a nice change in pace for him. The rest of the day seemed to go by more smoothly if he had those 45 minutes of peace at lunch.

He wasn’t really sure why, but he was really hoping to see that kid again. He had done some digging as Batman trying to figure out who the kid even was, but tracking down a homeless street kid in Gotham was impossible with no information other than ‘he has blond hair and likes the Flash.’

After two and a half weeks, his wish was granted. A few minutes after the waiter brought out his ham and cheese sandwich, he watched as the little figure sneaked behind another group of people and made his way past the café tables, grabbing a slice of half eaten bread from an abandoned plate as he went. Bruce frowned. That kid must be starving if he’s resorting to stealing half eaten bread that was decidedly too soggy for someone else to finish with the rest of their sandwich. He looked down at his food and back at the boy, knowing exactly what he was going to do.

Just as the child was brushing past Bruce’s table, the man reached out his hand and locked onto the child’s upper arm. The kid flinched and stiffened as the momentum stopped him dead in his tracks. He swiftly recovered and scowled while attempting to snatch his arm away. If it weren’t for the pure look of terror that flickered across the young boy’s hazel eyes, Bruce would have thought the kid had no fear.

Without standing or speaking, Bruce gently guided the child to the seat across from him, despite the boy’s struggling.

“Sit.” Bruce said, as he pushed his own plate across the table to where the child was now sitting and glaring at Bruce. It wasn't until he quit attempting to escape did Bruce release his arm.

Confusion. That’s what registered on the boy’s face. His eyes shifted from the food to Bruce and back several times before the older man said, “Look kid, I know you’re hungry. I just watched you steal a gross piece of bread. Eat.”

While the kid still eyed the food, obviously suspicious of the display of kindness from a random stranger, Bruce waved for the waiter’s attention across the patio and said loudly “I’d like another sandwich and chips please, and a glass of chocolate milk!” Returning his attention to the conflicted child, “If you’d rather have the fresh one, that’s fine too. I promise I hadn’t touched it yet, I only ate a couple chips before I saw you.”

The boy looked up again, this time meeting Bruce’s eyes. “No. That’s not….” he stammered, averting his gaze, his words almost a whisper. “ Why?”

“Why what?” Bruce questioned as he took a sip of his coffee.

“Why are you doing this?”

“You’re hungry. I have food. Seemed like a logical solution.” Bruce smiled as the waiter walked over and set a glass of chocolate milk down before the child.

“Your sandwich will be ready in a few minutes, sir. Do you need anything else?”

“No, no, that’s all, thanks.” Bruce said with a wave of his hand, dismissing the waiter.

The kid’s breath hitched as he took a deep breath, then he picked up the sandwich and took a huge bite. Then another, and another, until half the sandwich was gone.

“Don’t make yourself sick eating too fast, there, kid. The food’s not going anywhere, you can take your time.”

The child nodded and took a little longer to chew his food before taking the next bite.

“What’s your name?” Bruce asked, once his sandwich had been brought out by the waiter.

The child scowled and huffed. “I don’t know. What’s _your_ name?”

“Bruce Wayne.”

The kid scrunched his eyebrows like he was trying to figure something out, then his eyes widened. “Oh. I-I’m Max.” The child’s- Max’s- eyes drifted off to the left as he examined something that was anything but Bruce Wayne.

“Max what?”

“Just Max” he spat before eating a chip off his plate.

“You don’t have a last name, Max?”

Any shyness he had developed upon hearing Bruce’s name had vanished as his tough-kid attitude returned. “It’s not your business.”

“Alright, Just Max, I acquiesce.”

After a long sip from his milk, Max eyed Bruce and asked, "What's that mean?"

"Acquiesce? It kind of means 'I surrender.' I accept your statement and will not argue with it."

"Well why didn't you just say that!" The kid shrieked, before eating another chip.

Bruce smiled. He liked this kid. Maybe he could figure out what his deal was and help him find a good foster family, or something. Set him up at a decent boarding school. That had gone so well for Jason, after all, he thought bitterly.

Once Max finished off the rest of his chips, Bruce lifted his plate and dumped the remainder of his chips onto the little one's plate.

"I can't eat your chips, too." He said, while eyeing the chips.

"Of course you can. I'm full. I'll throw them away if you don't eat them."

That was all the boy needed to hear, because he started devouring the chips. Bruce wondered how often the child ate, and if he was all alone or part of a bigger group of kids. Maybe he had living parents who were also homeless?

"Max? I eat lunch here everyday. If you ever see me here, you may join me and I'll be glad to buy you a sandwich."

The boy narrowed his eyes and quit eating. "I don't need charity."

"It's not charity."

"Sure it is. I don't need charity. I'm not a freeloader."

"It's not charity."

"Then what is it?"

Bruce smiled softly at the child. So little, yet so full of pride. What exactly would he call buying a homeless kid meals? "It's me treating my friend to lunch. It's a very common thing for friends to do."

Max ate his last chip and sat up straighter in his seat. "We are not friends."

"Sure we are," Bruce laughed, "we are eating lunch together. That's what friends do."

Max opened his mouth to respond, but Bruce cut him off. "Max. I will be here again tomorrow. If you are hungry, come join me. If not, then that's okay. I enjoyed your company today, thank you for eating lunch with me."

The child nodded and stood up. "Thanks for the sandwich, Mr. Wayne." Before Bruce could respond, Max ran off down the street and rounded the corner. Now that he knew the boy's name, he hoped to learn more about the child through research.

\---

That night, Bruce sat at the batcomputer scouring every database he could think of for a child named "Max" born about 5 or 6 years ago. He found several little boys in Foster Care, Police Reports, and on the Missing Person's list, but none of them matched his Max's description. Not even close. Blond hair and hazel eyes were kind of rare in Gotham.

Bruce listened as a motorcycle entered the cave. Probably Tim. Sounded like his bike. He swore at the computer when another 'no match' came up on the screen. No children matching Max's description had been listed as missing in the entire state.

"What'cha working on?" Tim said as he strolled to the computer from his bike. "New case?"

"Of a sort." Bruce grunted. Maybe if he changed keywords a bit, it would help. The child's eyes were more green than they were brown, maybe they were listed as green in the database.

Tim leaned against the back of Bruce's chair and watched the screen over his mentor's shoulder. "Missing person?"

"Hm." Bruce replied. The computer worked through the new search, and then came back with 'no match.' "Fuck."

"Language." Tim teased as he reached forward to type on the keyboard. "Try being less specific."

The new search was now looking for a child anywhere from three to nine with blond or brown hair and green or hazel eyes. The list the computer returned was staggering. Bruce added one more filter and searched through for someone named 'Max.' Three results popped up. None of them his Max.

"Dammit," he said, slamming his fist on the desk.

"I can help better if I know what you're doing."

"I'm trying to gather information on a child. He is five or six, goes by 'Max,' has blond hair, hazel eyes, and is roaming the streets of Gotham alone and starving. And there seems to be no record of him at all. How does that happen? How does a child just fall through the cracks like that?"

"This that flash kid we saw a couple weeks ago?"

"Yeah."

Tim started laughing. "Oh Bruce, I-" Tim stopped. Every time Tim opened his mouth to say something, he interrupted himself with more laughter. Bruce just glared at him. What about this situation was so funny?

"Oh man," Tim said, wiping a tear from his eye, "you are hilarious, you know that, Bruce?"

"I don't follow."

"You saw a poor little orphan boy and you want to adopt him."

"I said nothing about _adopting_ him" Bruce growled. He really hadn't. He was going to find the boy a nice foster family. Or a boarding school. Not adopt him. The last street boy he adopted died at the hands of the Joker. He wasn't going to let that happen again.

"Pretty sure you never set out to adopt any of us." Tim joked as he turned toward the locker room. "Good luck with the hunt, boss."

Bruce grunted in response and went back to his query. He expanded the age range, dropped the name, and looked at neighboring cities. Nothing. His only option left was to search birth records, but that would be hopeless. A baby's hair and eye color didn't always stay the same from birth to childhood. And with dozens of babies born a day in Gotham, there was no way he was going to find Max. It would take weeks of following every single Max from birth to the current year just to narrow it down. And what if the child lied about his name? What if 'Max' was just a nickname and his legal name was something different? What if there is no record of his birth? Bruce rubbed his face and ran his hand through his hair. He had spent enough time on this. He had other, actual cases, to work on, including a child prostitution ring he was tracking. He would have to table the search and hope to God the child came to lunch again tomorrow. Maybe he could get more information about the kid then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two short chapters to begin, but some longer ones to come! Chapter updates will be at least every Sunday from here on out. Thanks for reading! I appreciate any suggestions or comments you have.


	3. In a Flash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Super speed is the coolest power, because if you can run away in the blink of an eye, there's no reason to be scared.

Morning hit Bruce like a brick, as it normally did. His alarm went off at 6:30, meaning he had a grand total of two hours of sleep. With a groan, he got up and readied himself for a long day at work. 

After a quick shower, he made his way down to have breakfast and found Tim and Damian sitting at the dining table. 

“Good Morning, Father,” Damian said. Bruce grunted. He never could figure out how Damian was so awake first thing in the morning. Bruce could be alert in an instant, sure, but something had to elicit that response from him. He usually spent his mornings glaring at his coffee, mulling over the fact that he had to be both awake and out of bed before noon. Damian, on the other hand, seemed to snap right into his _cheerful_ self the instant he was awake. Not that the child really slept. No. He didn’t sleep. He dozed, keeping himself partially aware of his surroundings. It’s probably why he was so short for his age. Children need to sleep to grow. 

Bruce poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down at the head of the table. Tim was sitting at his spot to Bruce’s right, glaring at his own cup of coffee. If Bruce were capable of smiling so early in the morning, he would. He and Tim were so much alike. 

At precisely 7 AM, Alfred served breakfast. Pancakes, scrambled eggs, sausage, and fruit salad. Simple. Bruce let the boys fix their plates first while he readied himself for food with more coffee. 

“Drake,” Damian hissed, “you spilled eggs on the pancakes.” 

Bruce felt a little twinge of pain behind his right eye. 

“It won’t kill you, brat,” Tim grumbled as he stabbed a sausage with his fork. 

“I refuse to eat these now.” 

“You know pancakes have eggs _in them_ , right?” 

Damian screeched something Bruce didn’t catch. It was too early for this. The pain behind his eye blossomed and reached his temple. Why did they have to fight every morning? Bruce tuned them out while he nursed his coffee and ate a stack of pancakes. Whatever they were bickering about was probably stupid. 

The sound of crashing dishes snapped Bruce back to attention. Damian had leapt across the table and was attempting to stab Tim with a butter knife. Of course. 

"I am the blood son,” Damian growled, “you are nothing!” 

“Master Bruce!” Alfred admonished upon entering the room, “control your children.” Why were they only ‘his’ children when they were being hellions? No one ever referred to one of his sons as ‘your son’ unless it was followed by some thinly veiled insult about their behavior. Or his parenting skills. Or both. 

“Enough!” Bruce shouted. When Damian showed no signs of stopping, the man stood up and grabbed the child’s collar, pulling him off the teen. “That is enough.” He repeated into Damian’s ear. 

Damian pulled himself free from his father’s grasp and Tim hopped up from the ground where the younger boy had pinned him. 

“Why must you two do this every morning? Just behave," he pleaded. 

“Father, I would not resort to such methods if Drake didn’t-“ 

“Be silent,” Bruce snapped, “Tim you’re almost an adult I expect more from you.” 

“Of course you take his side” Tim said flatly while glaring at the wall behind Bruce. 

Sides? There were no sides. How was he taking Damian’s side? He just told the kid to shut up, didn’t he? God his head hurt. Why did they have to fight so early in the morning? 

“Of course, Father sees your childishness for what it is,“ Damian said smugly. 

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. It was _way_ too early for this shit. 

“Sorry for bothering your son,” Tim muttered before stomping out of the room. 

“Tim!” Bruce shouted, to no avail. He listened as Tim grabbed his keys and slammed the front door. Great. Tim probably wasn’t coming back to the manor for a week, per the usual pattern. He hated the 17-year-old living alone, but honestly couldn’t blame him. Damian was such a difficult child to deal with. 

“Why must you antagonize him?” Bruce gritted out. 

“Father, Drake-“ Damian began. 

“No. I’m tired of this behavior, Damian.” Bruce rubbed his face and turned to leave the room. His headache was a full blown migraine now. “You know, for someone who insists he’s not a child, you sure act like one. Why can’t you just be good for once?” 

The tears that welled in Damian’s eyes were unnoticed by Bruce as he went to his room to dress for work. 

—— 

Tim was already at the office when Bruce arrived. They did not speak about breakfast. In fact, they barely spoke at all. Tim discussed the latest financial report from Research and Development and then made himself scarce for the rest of the day. It was all the same to Bruce, he really did not feel like talking about it, anyway. Especially not at Wayne Enterprises. Especially not with such an awful migraine. 

Bruce was not eager to have lunch. He did not count down the minutes until he could sit at his table outside the mediocre café he had been eating at all month. He was not excited about maybe seeing Max again. That would be ridiculous. He was just tired. Work was mind numbing and lunch was relaxing. That's all it was. It had nothing to do with the boy in the Flash hoody. 

Thirty minutes had passed since he sat down at the table. He had already ordered and eaten most of a Philly Cheesesteak. Alfred would be so disappointed in his choice of food, but dammit he deserved it after the morning he had. Thirty minutes and most of a marvelously unhealthy sandwich later, no short person had arrived. Bruce sighed and flipped from Gmail to Twitter on his phone. After shooting out a few tweets, some movement across the street caught his eye. 

Bruce pretended not to watch as his new little 'friend' carefully crossed the street and made his way to the table. It was really hard to size up the kid in his baggy hoody, which reached down to his mid-thighs. He didn’t actually look malnourished, but all he could see was the boy’s face and neck. 

Max stopped about ten feet from the table and stared for a minute. "Mr. Wayne?" the little voice asked, hesitant. 

Bruce set his phone down and smiled. "Hello, Max, how are you today?" 

"I'm okay,” he nodded, “Were you for real yesterday?" 

"I was. Would you like a sandwich?" Bruce motioned for Max to sit at the table and handed him a menu from the center of the table. 

Max took the offered menu and scrunched his eyebrows. "You promise it’s not charity?" 

"Nope. Not charity." 

"Okay." Bruce watched the little boy pour over the menu. He wondered if the tike could read, or if he was just looking at it for show. Just when he was about to offer to read it to him, Max asked "Can- Can I have the grilled chicken?" 

"Of course, you can have whatever you want." Bruce waved the waiter over and relayed his young companion's order. "Anything in particular you want to drink, Max?" 

"Jus-Just water, sir." 

Bruce wondered what had happened to the child's demeanor. Yesterday he was full of attitude, but today he was timid and scared. Perhaps it was because he was on the offense yesterday, Bruce thought, but now he was here on his own free will, and that scared him. The man was determined to make Max feel comfortable and safe eating lunch with him. 

"Are you a fan of the Flash, Max?" 

"Yes, sir." The boy started rolling his straw wrapper in his hand, putting all his focus on his little task instead of on Bruce. 

"Why the Flash? Why not, say, Superman? Or Batman? Batman is cool." Bruce grinned. 

"Well, of course he's _cool_ ," Max rolled his eyes, "but he doesn't have superpowers." 

"He doesn't? I thought he could fly." 

"What? No." Max scowled and looked at Bruce with an expression that screamed 'you're the biggest idiot on the planet.' "Why would you think that?" 

"I don't know. I just assumed he called himself a bat because he could fly." 

"Well he can't. He's just a human." 

"Oh, I see." The conversation paused while Max's sandwich was delivered. The piece of chicken was nearly as large as Bruce's hand, and he wondered if the child would have room for all that food. Max tore into the sandwich and was finished with a third of it before Bruce could tell him to slow down. Had the lad had any food since yesterday? 

"So, Max, why the Flash?" Bruce finally asked after taking a sip of his coffee. 

The child paused between bites to say, "He has the coolest super power." 

"Running fast is the coolest super power? I would think shape shifting is. Flying would be helpful, too." Bruce could think of hundreds of times flight would have been useful. He supposed super speed wouldn’t be a bad power to have, but it certainly would not be his first choice for a super power. Really, Bruce was fine not having powers. As he told Green Lantern once, his super power was wealth, and it was really all he needed. 

Max scowled at Bruce. "He doesn't just 'run fast.' He runs faster than light!" 

And also eats enough to feed all of North Korea for a month, in one meal, Bruce thought. "Okay, but how is that the coolest?" 

"He can get away from anything. He can move so fast no one even sees him doing it. I bet the Flash is never scared." 

Bruce frowned. Bruce had read enough about child psychology after adopting each of his boys to know this wasn’t just an innocent conclusion Max had made. What was so scary in his life he thought the ability to move faster than speeding light would be comforting? 

"There's nothing wrong with being scared,” Bruce eventually said, “everyone gets scared sometimes, I bet even the Flash." 

"Why would he? No one can make him do anything." Max frowned deeply and took another bite of his sandwich. 

“He is in the Justice League, and they face some pretty scary bad guys.” 

“Yeah but they always win.” Max pulled his sleeve up to his elbow when it fell into the ketchup he was dipping his chips in. Out of habit, Bruce quickly inspected the arm for bruising or any sign of abuse, but saw none. Just a pale skinny little kid’s arm. Good. That was good. Why didn’t Bruce feel any better? 

"I guess so,” Bruce said, unsure of what else to say. “So how old are you?” 

“I don’t know. How old are you?” the boy responded with a smirk. 

Bruce smiled. “Are you going to throw all my questions back at me like that?” 

“Possibly.” Max grinned and ate a chip. 

“I am 38.” 

The boy’s eyebrows rose and he said bluntly, “Wow you’re old.” 

Bruce laughed. Sometimes he loved the lack of filter children had. “Most people say the opposite.” 

“Well, most people are stupid.” Max nodded once and took a sip of his water. 

“Okay wise-guy, your turn. How old are you?” 

“I,” Max paused, “am seven years old,” he announced proudly. 

“So then, you’re in first grade?” Bruce asked. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Like in school?” 

“Oh, I don’t go to school.” 

Of course not. But the child could read, couldn’t he? So he was getting an education somehow? Unless... can children teach themselves to read? “Why not?” he questioned. 

A terrified expression took over Max’s face before quickly disappearing again. “I have to go, Mr. Wayne,” he said hastily. 

“Oh. Okay. I hope you’ll come join me again tomorrow, Max,” he offered. 

Max paused and nodded, then raced off down the block in a different direction than he had gone the day before. Bruce frowned and unlocked his phone. On his notepad app, he wrote down all the information he had learned about the child that day before sighing. At least this time he knew the boy would join him for lunch tomorrow, he thought. Hopefully that’s what that nod meant. 

Bruce settled his bill and walked back to Wayne Tower. It was going to be a long afternoon. No matter how hard he tried to pay attention to work, however, his mind kept drifting back to his lunch companion as he tried to put together the pieces of the puzzle that was Max. 

—— 

June turned into July as the weeks passed. Each weekday, Bruce sat at the café and little Max came and joined him. After the first few times, the child stopped asking permission and seemed to relax around Bruce. He learned quite a bit about the boy. He loved baseball, coloring, and reading. His favorite color was orange. He thought Green Lantern was the second best superhero. His favorite food was french fries. He liked it when it rained, but only if he could watch it from inside. He didn't care for pickles, but wouldn't refuse food. 

Bruce learned a lot of small little facts about Max, but the child refused to share anything more substantial about himself. Bruce assumed he was not homeless based solely on the fact that he usually appeared clean and enjoyed rainstorms. He remembered how much Jason hated rain, due to being forced to find shelter or sleep in it when he lived on the street. That was all well and good for Max, but it did not explain why a seven-year-old was wandering the streets by himself everyday. Hadn't someone noticed he disappeared each day? Why was he resorting to stealing food when Bruce first met him? Why did Bruce get the impression that lunch was the only thing the boy ate during the week? 

As Bruce built trust into his relationship with Max, he tried to ask harder questions about the boy's personal life, but each time he breached the 'forbidden topic,' as he dubbed it, Max would cut the lunch short and leave. Bruce quit asking. Instead, he allowed the 45 minutes to be filled with meaningless small-talk. If nothing else, it was good the child had an adult he could just chat with. He had no idea what the other adults in his life were like. For all Bruce knew, he was the only adult Max could talk to, even if they just discussed superheros and food. 

\---

On a Friday night in late July, Batman sat up on a roof in Crime Alley observing one Peter Holland. He had been following leads for weeks trying to track down a child prostitution ring that was operating in Gotham, but it was proving more difficult than he anticipated to gather information. They were good. Every time he got anywhere close to those he believed to be involved, his contacts disappeared and his leads dried up. It was infuriating. 

Three months prior he and Robin had accidentally stumbled upon a storage container where fifteen children were being held hostage. The sight had made him sick. He traced the container back to a man named Adam Woods, but as it turned out, Woods had been dead for ten years. It took a week to pick up any lead from there on the ring. The children had known nothing, or so they said, but Batman did not want to press them too hard. He knew it would take a while to rebuild the operation, so he had hoped that would give him time to gather information and make a bust, but it had been three months! That was plenty of time to collect a bunch of kids and put them to work. Batman shuddered to think that by saving fifteen kids, he probably put fifteen more in such a horrible situation. 

Batman suppressed a jump when he heard a sharp voice behind him. “The fuck are you doing in my territory, Old Man?” Jason. 

“Following a lead,” Batman growled out. It was the truth, after all. He knew he had invaded ‘Red Hood’s territory’ tonight by following Holland through Crime Alley, but he also knew how much Jason despised people who hurt children, and the people Batman was tracking hurt children in the worst possible way. 

“Let me guess. Trying to find the pimps for all those kids you rescued in the spring.” 

“Yes.” 

“I will help.” 

“I don’t need your help.” Before Hood could respond, Batman leaped off the roof and down to the alley below where Holland had just entered. In one swift action, he grabbed Holland and grappled him up to the roof opposite from where he had just come, tossing the man roughly to the ground. 

“Tell me where you get the kids,” he demanded, in his most intimidating Batman voice. He walked over to Holland and placed his boot on the man’s chest, preventing him from standing. 

Holland scowled and gripped Batman’s boot. “What are you talking about?” 

“Don’t play games with me,” he growled, placing more weight on the man’s chest. “Tell me.” 

“You don’t scare me,” Holland laughed, “we all know Batman don’t kill.” 

“I might not kill, but I can make sure you pee into a bag for the rest of your life.” 

The criminal rolled his eyes. “Empty threat.” 

Batman remove his foot and kicked the man’s side. He felt as a rib cracked beneath his steel-toed boot. 

Holland grunted and winced. “I’m not telling you anything,” he wheezed out. 

Just as Batman opened his mouth to respond, the distinct sound of another set of feet landing on the roof caught his attention. He turned to see Red Hood storming over to where Batman’s hostage lay on the ground. 

“Fuck this,” Hood fumed, “Tell us where you get those kids or I will fucking put as many bullets as I can in you without killing you. Slowly. And just so you know, it’s at least twenty.” 

“You work with the Red Hood now?” the now terrified criminal cried. 

“Do you not see the fucking bat on my chest?” 

“I ain’t involved in it, I just manage the money, I swear," the man spouted out desperately, "All I know is we buy them.” 

Batman glared “From who?” he demanded. 

“Anyone willing to sell one,” he answered, “They come from here and there.” 

Hood pressed his gun into the man’s thigh, just to the left of his artery. A bullet there would hurt like hell, but would not cause a bleed-out. “You know more than that.” Hood began pulling back on the trigger.

“Okay! Please! I know we are gonna pick up a new one in three days. There’s a meeting at warehouse 32 down on the docks at 11pm. Boss made me pull 15k for it. That’s all I know I swear!” 

Batman glared after Hood kicked Holland in the head and knocked him out cold. “Relax. He’s not fucking dead,” Hood spat. “He deserves to be, though. You’re welcome, asshole.” 

The older man watched as his second son fled the roof. He was thankful, even if he loathed to admit it. He would have been able to get the information out of the man, but not as quickly and painlessly. Now he had a strong lead. It was time to plan the bust, and this time, save a child from human trafficking before they were subjected to the horrors of it. Batman returned to the batcave and wrote up his report and plan. When he finished, it was already 4 AM. Oh well. He didn’t need that much sleep, anyway, not when scum like Holland and his gang were roaming the streets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! The next chapter will be hopefully Sunday.


	4. Busted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After months of work, Batman finally busts a child prostitution ring, but even with his mental preparation, he is shocked to find what he does.

On Monday evening, Batman started patrol just after sunset so he would have plenty of time to get to the warehouse before anyone arrived. About 45 minutes before the meeting was set to take place, he and Nightwing arrived and scouted out the building. It was a large warehouse, but had a single room. There weren't even offices. The large windows allowed a clear view of the river, and because it was so dark inside, he could clearly see the city lights bouncing off the gentle waves.

He was glad to be working with his original partner for once, especially since the young man lived in Blüdhaven and rarely patrolled Gotham anymore. He had asked Dick to help him with the case because he was the only logical partner for this particular type of case. 

Damian and Tim were too young, too impressionable. Bruce did not want them seeing this side of Gotham. He knew they were already aware such things existed. Damian had been there when they found those fifteen kids, after all, but that was an accident, and seeing something is very different from simply knowing it exists. There were some images Bruce just did not want in their head yet. Ever, actually. 

Jason wasn’t much older than Tim, and everything that applied to Tim would have applied to Jason as well, had the kid not grown up in Crime Alley. He had been seeing all this and more starting from a young age. So based simply on that, he would be fine with using Jason, but he could not base it simply on the potential negative mental health affects. His morals might have been a little off, by Batman’s standards, but Jason was a good kid at heart. Bruce knew this. Jason cared about people, especially children, and when someone hurt children, Jason lost it. Batman knew if he involved Red Hood on this case, it would end in death, and he did not want be the one responsible for putting Jason in a situation where he knew the man would kill. Knew the man would be adding more faces to torment his dreams. Adding more blood on his hands. He couldn’t do that to the teen. He didn't really want to expose Dick to this side of Gotham, either, but the man was a cop. He was a cop in _Blüdhaven_. It might not have been as bad as Gotham, because even Bruce had to admit no where was as bad as Gotham, but Blüdhaven was a pretty shitty place that had all of the same problems. Dick saw all the horrors of the town from two different perspectives. On top of all of that, he had been Batman for a year. A whole year. He had seen all the horrors Gotham had to offer, as well. All the horrors Bruce always tried to shield him from. Dick would be able to handle this case, of that Bruce was certain. So, Nightwing it was. 

The pair sat silently for half an hour observing. The warehouse was mostly empty. There were a few dozen pallets stacked against a wall, leaving the rest of the single-room building barren. The lights were suspended from the high ceiling and sat well below the rafters, meaning no one could see up into their hiding place if they wanted. The lights would blind them, and with the lights were off, it was too dark in the room to see Batman and Nightwing’s dark costumes.

Ten minutes to 11, Batman listened as footsteps approached the building. It sounded like two people, one adult and one child. He could feel his stomach twist, knowing that he was about to set eyes on a monster who would sell children into modern day slavery and a poor child who may or may not know what he was about to be thrown into. No. That kid was not about to be thrown into that world. Batman would not allow it. He was going to save the child. 

The main door creaked open and a grown man peeked his head in. The bastard, Bruce decided to call him, looked to be not much older than Nightwing. Maybe 25. Definitely not as old as 30. He was wearing a hat and jacket. Once he looked around the room and seemed to deem it safe to enter, he stepped all the way inside and dragged a little boy behind him. The child was wearing a simple t-shirt and pair of jeans. Outrageous, Batman thought to himself. The man was wearing a beanie and jacket because it was cold outside, yet he didn't even dress the child appropriately. Well, of course he wouldn’t care, wasn't he about to sell the kid to a child prostitution ring? Did he know that was what the group was? Surely he did. It didn't matter anyway, who sells a _child_? Batman clenched his fists and grit his teeth. He just wanted to swoop down right now and beat the shit out of the man, but he had to remain calm and wait for the transaction to occur. He took a deep breath and counted slowly to ten as he felt his heart rate slow back down. No use in being worked up quite yet.

“Why are we here?” the child asked with slight squeak in his voice. He was nervous. There was something about the voice, about the child, that seemed vaguely familiar to Bruce, but it was too dark in the warehouse for him to make out the features of either figure’s face. 

The man below yanked the child up by his arm and back handed him across the face. He heard Nightwing suck in a sharp breath as Batman clenched his own fists tighter. His cheeks flushed as his blood began to boil. “The fuck did I tell you?” the bastard shouted angrily. 

“I’m sorry, Dad,” the child said. There was a small tremor in his voice, and Bruce’s blood turned to ice. He knew that voice. He had just heard that voice at lunch. Heard it tell him silly jokes and laugh before even getting to the punch line. Heard it talk about why ducks were the single greatest animals on the face of the planet. Heard it tell him he would hear it again tomorrow. That voice belonged to Max, and Max was currently shivering in the 40 degree night in that God forsaken warehouse. Terrified of the man he just called “Dad.” About to be sold as a child prostitute by the _man he just called “Dad.”_ The man Bruce wanted to murder. Right now.

“No,’ Batman whispered inaudibly. It can’t be Max. Not his Max. How could anyone treat such an amazing little boy like that? That man was fucking lucky to call that child his son, and he was selling him? For _fifteen thousand dollars?_ Max was worth more than all the money in the world. He was priceless. Batman almost wished then that Max _had_ been an orphan, if only to spare him from the pain he knew tonight was going to cause the poor boy. And how fucked up was that? Wishing a child was an orphan? Bruce would have to unpack that terrible thought later.

“Shut up,” the _bastard_ barked at Max, in response to the child’s apology. Bruce scoffed. The child had apologized to his father after the man hit him. “Keep your fucking mouth zipped you brat. Open it again and I’ll give you more than a bruised face, got it?”

Max nodded and looked down at his feet. Batman wanted to jump down, knock the man out, and scoop the child up. Take him far away from that warehouse and make him smile and laugh just like he had earlier that day at lunch. Just like a seven-year-old should. 

He moved to jump to the ground, but a hand grasped his forearm to stop. He looked over at Nightwing, who whispered almost to quietly for Batman to hear, “Not yet. Kid’s fine, we have to wait for the trade.”

“But that’s Max,” Bruce responded, in a similar tone. He shifted his position on the rafter he was perched on and looked away. 

“You know him?” Nightwing asked, confusion evident in his voice, “B, don’t let emotions cloud your judgement. If this were just a random kid, you would be saying the same thing I’m saying. If we interfere now, we can only get him on smacking the kid. We both know the guy will get a slap on the wrist and be told to ‘pretty please don’t do it again’ and that child will be stuck living with a horrible excuse for a father. If we wait, we can bust him on so much more. That kid will never have to see his father again. Just. Wait.” 

Bruce sighed. Dick was right. Of course he was right. But this was Max. He looked back down at little Max and saw the child still staring at the floor. His arm was being held tightly and too high by his father, causing the boy to stand on his toes a bit. Bruce sucked in a breath and forced it out through flared nostrils, focusing on his breathing in an attempt to keep his anger in check. The rage growing within him was hot and intense. It took every ounce of willpower he had to keep himself firmly planted. He had a new found appreciation for Jason and the strength the teen displays every time he didn't kill someone just to appease Bruce.

Max didn't say another word, just as he was ordered. Bruce watched intently as the child stood stone still, staring at the floor. Eventually, the bastard released Max's arm and began pacing back and forth impatiently. The child folded his arms around his body and looked up at his dad, still not daring to speak. Batman wished he were closer so he could see the child's face and read his expression. He'd give anything to know what emotions the child was feeling at that moment. 

Finally, after what felt like a millennia, the door squeaked open and five men entered. They wore toboggans and carried guns. They quickly encircled Max and the bastard, leaving about five yards between them and the pair, after visually checking the rest of the room. Max scooted closer to his father, who quit pacing to observe the development. 

A moment later, two more individuals walked into the warehouse. One was carrying a duffle bag, presumably with the fifteen thousand dollars. The other had nothing in his hands, but walked with confidence that commanded the room. He was clearly the boss, even if he were half the size of some of his guards. He did not have a winter face mask on like the rest of his gang, but was wearing a mask that obscured his face. Bruce could not tell anything about the man except that he had dark hair and was rather slender. 

Nightwing silently and carefully placed a camera on the rafter near him, pointing it down toward the group below. Batman followed suit, placing his own camera so it would capture a different view. He quickly ensured his cowl was still recording, as he had told it to start the moment he heard the bastard approach the warehouse. It was one of those belt and suspender type things, but Bruce was not going to risk losing all evidence of this crime. He would have used this method anyway, because this was the most despicable crime he could think of, but now that he knew it was Max about to be the victim, he was determined to make sure none of these men got away with anything on a technicality. There would be irrefutable evidence.

The boss sauntered into the center of the room and stood between two of his guards. "This is the child?" he said accusingly, as if he were expecting something different. 

Bastard shifted from one leg to the other and pulled on Max until the boy was standing in front of him, in full view of his buyer. "Yeah, this's him." 

"He doesn't look like much." The man stepped forward toward Max while the boy's father harshly shoved him closer to the man. Max seemed to shrink under the gaze of the boss while he was being examined like a piece of meat. Bruce reached for his grapple gun when the ring leader's hand touched the boy's chin to lift his face. Don't fucking touch him, Bruce thought angrily. Nightwing gripped his arm again, but did not make eye contact. It didn't matter, Bruce knew exactly what his son was telling him. He was right. Dick was right. Be patient. Neither he nor Nightwing would allow serious harm to befall Max, and right now they had to wait for the deal to be completed. With a deep breath, he moved his hand back off his grapple and continued to watch.

"You damaged his face," the leader said flatly. 

"It'll heal," the father said flippantly, "Probably won't even see it tomorrow." Max stood rigidly as the man poked at his ribs. Even without seeing the child's face, he could see the terror radiating off him. He knew exactly what was happening, Bruce thought. He knew what his father was doing. 

The leader stepped back away from Max and nodded toward his companion with the duffle bag. "How old is he?" he asked, turning back to the bastard. 

"Five," the young man replied. 

A laugh. "Do not lie to me. He looks older than five."

"He turns six in September." He turns eight in March, Bruce thought. The kid's father was a good liar. Max tightened his arms around his body and looked down at the floor. Bruce had known the boy well enough to know he was biting back all sorts of sarcastic comments. Or, at least, he assumed he was. Bruce had never scared the boy this bad, he would never scare him like this, but Bruce _had_ scared him at their first meeting, and the child was quick to cop an attitude. 

"I'll give you ten thousand," the leader yawned. 

"Ten?" the father shouted, "we agreed on twenty!" 

Batman clenched his jaw tighter, and was momentarily concerned he would crack a tooth or two. During the exchange, he kept his eyes planted on Max. The boy rubbed at his face and shook slightly before hugging himself again. 

"No, you asked for twenty," the leader said with a wave of his hand, "I do not believe this child is worth twenty."

"He's good as you know it," the father spat. 

"Twelve," the boss offered.

"Twenty," bastard countered. 

"Enough. Fifteen or I'll just take the boy and keep my money," he said while turning around. He waved a hand at his companion with the money, who stepped forward toward the father. 

"Fine. Deal." Bastard took the bag of money and looked down at Max. "Be a good boy, Maxie," he said while he ruffled the child's hair. Max pulled away from the contact but did not react otherwise. With a huff, Max's father turned to leave the warehouse. 

Batman stood. He couldn't watch this any longer. Faster than anyone in the room could react, he shot his grapple gun at a rafter across the room and leapt down toward one of the armed guards. 

Chaos. The room erupted into chaos. Nightwing followed immediately after Batman. Both men knocked an armed guard down each, leaving three, the boss, courier, bastard, and Max standing. Turning from where he had landed in front of the unconscious body of a guard, Batman tossed a batarang at another man. It hit the man's hand, causing his gun to clatter to the ground, seconds before his entire body did when Batman jumped forward and kicked the man in the chest. With a well-controlled kick to the head, the man went out cold. 

A bullet hit Batman in the side, causing him to grunt in pain and annoyance. It did not puncture the Kevlar in his suit, but probably bruised his rib. Batman swiveled to see Nightwing finish off the fourth guard, leaving just one guard left, the one who just shot him. 

Before either man could attack the remaining guard, the leader shouted "Enough!" Bruce watched as the man grabbed hold of Max's shirt, who had crouched to the ground and covered his head with his arms, and lifted him into the air. Swiftly, he produced a gun from his jacket and pointed at the boy's head. Max's eyes shifted between all the adults in the room, before locking onto Batman's face. Bruce could see the pleading in the young boy's eyes. 'Please save me,' they were saying. 

Batman growled. How dare he. How dare he touch Max. How dare he cause that child so much pain and fear. 

"One step and I'll shoot him," the man crowed. Max let out a whimper that caused Bruce to immediately drop the batarang that was in his hand and raise his hands in surrender. Batman heard Nightwing similarly dropped his eskirma sticks. They were at a stalemate. Bruce looked between the criminals and calculated how quickly he would have to throw a batarang in order to knock out the remaining three thugs. He would need to get the gun off Max first, but it would be difficult to do so without causing Max harm. The man would likely pull the trigger if Bruce even twitched. He narrowed his eyes and glared at the man. Maybe if Nightwing-

The sound of gunfire interrupted Bruce's thoughts. 

Bruce blinked, expecting to see a bloody Max laying on the ground. Instead, he saw a shaking seven year old standing next to a collapsed criminal still clinging to the gun he had threatened Max with. What...? Bruce spun around. The bastard and the money handler were both similarly collapsed.

Red Hood strolled into the warehouse and blew on his gun. 

"You're such a drama queen, Hood," Nightwing quipped, as he began walking around the room and zip tying criminals hands and feet together.

"You are welcome, Goldie. I just saved your ass," the man clipped. 

"Are they-" Batman began.

"Rubber bullets," Jason replied. Bruce could hear the eye roll in his voice. 

Batman sighed and jumped forward and kick the gun away from the man, before turning to Max. He knelt down before the boy and placed his hands on either side of his shoulders, without touching him.

"Are you okay? Are you harmed?" Batman asked. He tried to soften his voice as much as he could without dropping his signature Batman gravel. 

Max looked at him with wide eyes before nodding. "Yes. I'm. I'm okay." 

"Do you know what just happened?" Nightwing asked. Bruce dropped his hands and backed away a step to give Max a little room. 

"My dad just-just sold me. And that man tried to k-kill me, but you guys stopped him. So thanks." Max wrapped his arms back around his body as he looked away from the trio now all standing in front of him. 

"Why would your father do that?" Hood demanded, "Who the fuck does that to their kid?"

"He just needed money," Max replied, his voice void of all emotion, "he just got outta jail a few months ago and can't find a job. The landlord was gonna kick us out."

"That's not an excuse!" Hood shouted. 

Bruce watched Max shift uncomfortably and shy away from Red Hood. "Hood, you're scaring him," Batman growled. 

"Shit kid, I'm sorry." Jason took his helmet off to reveal his head. His face was hidden by a domino mask, but the effort made him much less intimidating. He knelt down to Max's level and asked "Hey kid, what's your name?"

"Max," he whispered.

"Max what?" Nightwing questioned. 

"Maxwell George." Bruce suppressed a grin. He had been trying to get this information out of the boy for weeks, and now he finally had it. The spark of accomplishment was quickly squashed by the gravity of the situation at hand. He had only learned this information because of a horrible crime committed against Maxwell. 

"Well, Maxwell George, I'm Red Hood. S'nice to meet ya." Jason extended his hand to Max, who looked up with awe. The boy tentatively shook Hood's offered hand and then smiled slightly. 

"I know," he said, a hint of that cockiness Bruce knew so well returning to Max's voice. "You're my favorite bat," he added. 

Hood laughed a genuine laugh that warmed Bruce. He couldn't even be hurt by Max's choosing Jason over him due to how much joy the simple sentence had brought his son. 

"Ouch," Dick teased, "We're standing right here." 

Max smiled and looked over at Nightwing. 'You're cool, too."

"Oh, good," Dick joked. 

The sound of police sirens commanded the attention of everyone conscious in the room. 

"I'm out," Hood said as he made his way to the door, "take care, kid." 

Max waved as Jason left, leaving Nightwing and Batman to deal with the police.

Dealing with the police was always exhausting. It felt like forty different officers wanted his statement, and he was forced to repeat himself multiple times. After retelling the events of the night for the third time, Batman cut off the lieutenant speaking to him and retorted, "If you need anything else, Gordon knows how to contact me." Batman would bring Gordon copies of the videoed exchange the next night, and the police would have all they needed. Before leaving, he inquired about status of Maxwell, who was being looked over by paramedics. 

"He's fine," the officer Batman asked said, "he's got a bruised cheek and is cold, but he's otherwise fine. CPS will be here in about twenty minutes. They say they already have an emergency foster home arranged." Batman nodded at the officer and left the scene. He made his way back to the Batcave to write up his report and review the night's footage. If one good thing came of the night, it was that Max was finally being placed into a foster family. Bruce was going to miss the child. Miss seeing him at lunch each day. Miss his silly little comments. His dumb jokes that made no sense. His laugh. The way his eyes crinkled nearly shut when he giggled. But that was okay. Max was going to be okay. He was going to be happy, he was going to have adults in his life who cared about him. This was good, and Bruce could live with that. At least Max was all right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was so hard to write. I seriously quit writing it four times and wrote entire other chapters instead! Sorry this turned out so dark. The next chapter won’t be so heavy! Promise. 
> 
> Next chapter by Wednesday! Probably sooner. I keep posting chapters sooner than I say I will. This next one is actually already written, I just have to read it over 7 thousand times and nit pick the grammar and word choices. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! I appreciate any and all comments/suggestions/reviews. :D


	5. All Good Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the saying goes, all good things must come to an end, but just because one phase of life is over doesn't mean the next can't be better.

Bruce skipped lunch on Tuesday. It's not that he wasn't hungry, he just couldn't bring himself to go get anything knowing his favorite little companion wouldn't be joining him. Instead, he worked straight through lunch and snacked on the assortment of random things some of his employees had brought to share in the break room that morning. 

His mind wandered to Max often. He had searched for any information he could find on Maxwell George as soon as he got home that morning, but found absolutely nothing. Not even a birth record, and the police report and CPS placement had been too fresh for it to be in the database last night. He learned a lot about the Georges, though, and the man who he assumed was Maxwell's father. He was a real class act. His name was Michael George and he was 27. He had been let out of prison on parole in April, where he had been sentenced to twenty years for the _manslaughter_ of his wife, the woman Bruce assumed was Max's mother. He had served five of those years. So the bastard had killed his kid's mother and then somehow managed to get custody of the kid five years later. Max probably didn't even know him when Michael got out of prison. The kid had been two when he was sentenced! 

Perhaps that explained why Max didn't seem terribly malnourished when Bruce first met him. He had only been with his dad about a month, and if it was his dad neglecting him causing him to steal food, then he didn't have too much time to begin to show signs of starvation. The generous servings of lunch he had been eating five days a week then helped keep his weight up. Bruce suddenly felt terrible for not inquiring to whether Max had food on the weekends. He should have given the kid leftovers or something. Or called CPS. Bruce was certain he would be feeling the guilt from that for a long time to come. But there was still one question Bruce had: Where on earth had Max been for those five years Michael was in jail? CPS had no record on Maxwell, meaning they had nothing to do with his arrangements. So he had basically been a child kept completely off the government's radar. Who was watching him? Who was taking care of him? Where were they now?

Dinner that evening was just Damian and Bruce. Tim had been avoiding the manor all together lately. Bruce should probably check on him or something, he thought, but surely Dick kept tabs on the boy. Tim showed up for his patrols each night. He attended his meetings and shot Bruce emails constantly throughout the day, sharing his notes, findings, and reports. Tim was fine. He just didn't like being around Damian, Bruce supposed. That's okay. 

Dick and Jason similarly never came by either, but for different reasons. Dick adored Damian, but he seemed to dislike being in the room with both Bruce and Damian. Bruce couldn't figure out why, and it frustrated him. Jason, of course, hated Bruce, and never came around when Bruce was there. He had been growing closer to his brothers, however, so Bruce decided he would take a win where he could. At least Jason had some family, even if he insisted they were not family and pretended to hate them all. 

"Father," Damian snapped. Bruce looked up from his mostly empty plate that once held a steak and steamed vegetables. Damian was sitting to his left glaring at him. The child's piercing green eyes bore into his own with anger and frustration. 

"Huh?" Bruce said, slightly confused. Why was Damian angry with him now?

"You weren't listening," Damian accused as he slammed his fork down and stood. Bruce just watched as the 12-year-old stormed out of the room in a huff. He only slightly jumped when he heard the boy's bedroom door slam shut. 

Bruce sat back in his chair and rubbed his face. That was the complete set then. All four boys had better things to do than eat dinner with Bruce. Maybe not all of them had reasons directly connected to Bruce, but he was the indirect cause for all four. The only reason Damian even lived at the manor was because Bruce forced it. Well, he didn't quite have to force it, but he was going to had Dick not sent Damian back home. He was the boy's father, after all, not Dick, and Damian was 12. Dick would have loved to keep Damian, Bruce was sure, but the man was 23 and was far too young to be raising a then 11 year old. Bruce smiled at his own thought. He had been 24 when he took Dick in, and the child had been 8 at the time. Sure, it's a little different, Bruce was a little older and Dick a little younger, but it wasn't completely dissimilar. It didn't matter, though, Damian was Bruce's son. Sure, he had been a major jerk to the child before he disappeared for a year, but now was his chance to make it up to the boy and fix their relationship. Clearly, he was failing miserably. The child hated him, and Bruce didn't blame him. He was a terrible father. 

With a sigh, Bruce cleared the table and did the dishes for Alfred. The older man had errands to run that evening so he had simply prepared dinner and left the cleanup to Bruce. Once the kitchen was clean, Bruce retired to his study where he got a few more hours of work in before patrol. Maybe by 10 Damian would have forgiven him and they could be Batman and Robin like normal.

\----

The rest of the week flew by. Bruce reverted back to his old habit of eating lunch in his office and managed to make it through part of a day without thinking about his young friend. On Friday, Bruce was just about to place an order for subs to be delivered to his building when his secretary buzzed him on the intercom. 

"Yes, Caroline?" Bruce asked as he navigated to the restaurant's website on his computer. A salad would be much healthier, or maybe even a wrap, but that toasted herbs and cheese bread looked delicious. Alfred wouldn't even have to know. 

"Sir," the woman began. She sounded unsure of something. "There's a child here to see you. He doesn't look like one of yours, but he says he knows you."

Didn't look like one of his? Bruce thought. What did that mean? He thought Caroline had met all his boys. "Uh, what's his name?" Bruce asked as he added a turkey breast sandwich to his virtual cart. 

"Max," the woman said. Bruce froze. Max? Max came to his office? He and the child had never met anywhere but at the café. Besides, wasn't he living with a foster family now? Bruce was sure he was, he had finally gotten a hold of the child's record. He was living with a nice family on the north side of town. They had four other children and received nothing but high marks and praise as a home. Max should be at home with them, or in school, not roaming the streets of Gotham! Or did one of his foster parents drive him? But no, Caroline said nothing about an adult with him, and what foster parent would allow their kid to just wander into a giant building like Wayne Tower by himself to meet a grown man they had never met? Something had to be terribly wrong. Why was he there?

"Send him in," Bruce said, his calm voice hiding the panic that was happening in his head. He sat still in anticipation, and watched as the door to his office slowly creaked open. 

"Mr. Wayne?" Max asked hesitantly. The kid looked terrified. His cheek wasn't bad looking, though, and he was dressed in new clothes that were appropriate for the outdoor temperature. Max stepped just inside the office, but kept a hand on the door frame, as if anchoring himself. 

Bruce smiled "Hey buddy, come on in. What are you doing here?"

Max looked around the office and shook his head. "I'm sorry. I was just-" he started. His eyes kept scanning the room and looking back over his shoulder to outside the office. "I just wanted- Never mind. I'm sorry." Max turned to leave and Bruce hopped up. 

"Hey, Max, wait. What's wrong?" he asked as he walked over to the door. The boy turned back around and watched as Bruce approached and knelt down before him. "Tell me what's going on," Bruce said with a soft smile. 

"It's just," Max said as he scrunched his face. "I just, I thought maybe you forgot about me," he cried, "but then I thought no you wouldn't. So I came to make sure you weren't dead. But you aren't so you did." By the end of his explanation, he was sobbing. The boy wiped his face with his sleeve and looked away from Bruce. 

Bruce reached out to embrace Max, but as soon as his arm got near, Max jumped back and ceased crying instantly. 

O...kay. That was not the reaction Bruce was expecting. He pulled his arms back to himself and tried to make everything about himself look completely non-threatening. 

"Max, I could never forget about you," Bruce soothed. He really wished he could just hug the boy, but clearly that would not comfort him. 

"Then why haven't you come to lunch?" Max hiccuped. 

Lunch? Max had been going to the café anyway? Oh no. Bruce had assumed he wouldn't show. He had assumed the child would be with his foster family, going to school, living a happy life. Not showing up at a café on the other side of town! 

"Oh, Max, I am so sorry. I got really busy at work and haven't be able to break away. I promise I didn't forget about you." 

Max just nodded and wiped at his face again with his sleeve. 

"I was about to order some lunch to the office. Why don't you come in and I'll order you some, too." 

Max looked inside the office again and shook his head. "That's okay, Mr. Wayne, I'm okay."

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "You don't want any lunch?"

The boy hesitated and shook his head. 

Bruce looked around his office and frowned. What was the child seeing?

"How can I make it up to you, Max? What about ice cream? There's a food court downstairs and I can buy you some ice cream."

Max took a deep breath and the corner of his lip lifted in an attempted smile, "I like ice cream."

"Perfect! Ice cream it is! Let's go." Bruce guided Max through the floor over to the elevator and avoided the curious gazes from his employees. Max had been standing pretty much in the office space of his secretary and interns, since he had refused to enter Bruce's office. The employees had heard every word the pair exchanged. They saw Max cry. Bruce wondered what they were thinking. Kind and gentle wasn't exactly an image Brucie Wayne projected to the outside world. It's one only people very close to him saw, and Bruce had just put it on full display in the middle of his building right in front of a dozen people. 

On the second floor there was a large food court with seven different restaurants. One was known for having good fried food and delicious hand scooped ice cream. Bruce ordered himself a scoop of vanilla and let Max pick whatever he wanted. That ended up being a scoop of caramel M&M with hot fudge. With their ice cream in hand, the pair found a table near the edge of the court that had a relative amount of privacy. Bruce knew that not many people would willingly sit right next to the CEO anyway, but he still didn't want to risk anyone eavesdropping. 

Bruce thought for a moment about what he wanted to say to the boy. Honestly, Max should not be sneaking away from his foster family like this. It wasn't safe, and the boy needed to go to school. Bruce could look the other way before, because he legitimately wasn't sure if the boy was homeless or not, but now he knows the child's living situation, and this could not continue. 

Bruce took a bite of his ice cream before asking, "Max? Do your parents know you meet me for lunch each day?"

Max looked startled. He shoved a spoonful of ice cream into his mouth before shaking his head. "They don't care," he mumbled.

"Know and don't care, or don't know and you think they don't care?"

"My mom is dead and my dad is in jail," the child deadpanned. The boy locked his eyes with Bruce as he took another bite of his M&M ice cream. Bruce wasn't sure how to respond to that. Of course he _knew_ that, but Max didn't know he knew. How should he react to learning this information for the first time? Before he could answer, Max continued, "and CPS won't let me see Dad, so it's not like I can get to them to tell them I'm going to lunch. So they don't know _and_ they don't care."

Bruce frowned. "I'm sorry, Max. My parents died when I was about your age, I know how it feels to not have them around."

Max looked conflicted. "They did? Did," he paused, "Did you have to go to foster care?"

"No, I had a family friend take care of me. Are you in foster care?" Bruce asked. 

"Oh." Max finally dropped his gaze. "I- Yes. And I don't like it," he whispered.

Bruce was stunned. He had been eating lunch with this child for nearly two months, and never once had the child divulged anything personal about himself. Now, he was giving away his life story and sharing his deepest thoughts. "Why don't you like it? Do they treat you okay?" 

"They- Yeah, I guess. I don't know. I don't know them. I just got this family on Tuesday. I have to share a room. I don't like sharing a room. And there's always people around. I'm never alone. And they're going to make me go to school!" Max was on the verge of crying by the end of his spiel, but he also looked relieved, like he had been bottling up these thoughts for days and now that they were out he could relax. 

"That sounds like a lot of change really fast." Bruce scooped up the last bite of his ice cream and dropped his napkin in the empty cup.

"Yeah. I just want things to go back to how they were, before Monday." Max poked at his ice cream with his spoon, causing the colors from the M&Ms to mix together to create a strange muddy brown color in the melting dessert.

"I'm sorry this is happening, Max, but sometimes change has to happen. Who knows, you might find you really like your new family, you just have to give it time. You might like living with them better than where you were before."

"Where I was before was fine!" Max shouted, then added quietly, "Dad was never home so I did whatever I wanted. Rachel is always home and she's always trying to talk to me. And she's gonna make me go to school! If I go to school I can't come have lunch with you!"

Oh. Bruce saw the problem. He had been right in his assumption that he was the only adult Max had to talk to. If his father truly was never around, the boy had been all alone. He had been starved for attention. Now Bruce felt even more like shit for unknowingly blowing the kid off all week. 

"Tell you what," Bruce said with a smile, "Does your new house have a computer you can use?"

Max nodded. 

"With internet?" he amended.

"Yeah, but I'm not allowed on the internet without supervision." 

The man smiled, "That's okay. I'm going to give you my business card, okay?" Bruce fished a card from his wallet and wrote a few things on the back of the card. "This here is my cell phone number. If you ever want to just chat, you can call me on that, okay?" Bruce pointed to the back of his card. "And this is my personal email address. Have your foster parents help you make your own email account, then you can send me an email and we can be pen pals. Tell them if they're uncomfortable with this, I'll be happy to talk to them first. Okay?"

Max frowned and took the card from Bruce. "But, it's not the same."

"I know, buddy, but if you get your foster parent's permission, I'll be happy to meet you for lunch on the weekends, okay?"

"Really?" Max smiled his normal happy smile for the first time all afternoon. 

"Of course, but no more sneaking away, okay? I don't like you walking across Gotham by yourself, it's not safe."

"Thank you, Mr. Wayne," Max said. With one last large bite, Max finished off his ice cream and stood up. "I'm gonna go home now."

"Do you need a ride?" Bruce asked. 

"No," Max blurted before adding more calmly, "No, I took the bus."

Bruce frowned and knew that was a lie. There was no bus that went from the area of town Max lived and the business district, but Bruce decided that he had gained enough ground with the child this afternoon and probably shouldn't push him any further. "Okay, have a safe journey home. I look forward to your first email." 

Maxwell smiled and waved as he walked away. Bruce rubbed his face in exhaustion. Max was such a strange little boy. But when had he begun caring so much for that child? He was worried for the boy. Worried he wouldn't make it home. Worried he wouldn't be happy. Bruce only worried like this about his own children. His own children. The four that hated him. Bruce laughed to himself. It would only be a matter of time before Max hated him, too. The child had almost started just that afternoon, when he came to the incorrect conclusion that Bruce forgot about him. Bruce amended his earlier thought about himself. He wasn't just a terrible father. He was a terrible person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter soon! I'll quit giving a day of the week. I get too excited once I deem a chapter is completely done and can't not press "post" just for the sake of putting out chapters on a schedule.


	6. What He Wanted All Along

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce didn't realize what he wanted until his wish is granted.

The email never came. A few weeks passed and Bruce did not hear from Max after buying the child ice cream that day. He figured the boy’s foster parents put an end to him spending time with a random adult. It _was_ kind of strange, when Bruce thought about it, but Bruce knew the relationship was innocent and Max was completely safe with him, but he understood the boy’s parents assuming that was not the case.

That’s why Bruce was surprised when he received a call on his personal one Saturday morning. He didn’t recognize the number, and nearly didn’t answer, but maybe it was Jason calling from one of his burner phones.

“Bruce Wayne,” he answered after sitting up and hitting the green button on the screen. He was in the library reading a book and Damian was sitting on the opposite side of the room drawing a picture of a kids meal toy he had been given as a joke by his brothers. It was cute, but he would never dare say that word to Damian.

 _“Hi, Mr. Wayne!”_ the tiny excited voice replied.

“Maxwell,” Bruce smiled, “How are you doing?”

 _“I’m okay,”_ he replied. _“Do you still want to have lunch with me on Saturdays?”_ His voice was quiet and unsure, as if he believed Bruce had forgotten about him already and was maybe glad he didn’t have to see Max anymore.

“Of course, Max. Did you get permission?”

 _“Yes,”_ he said quickly _”but I can’t wander too far from the house, so would you maybe want to come up to North Gotham and eat somewhere here?”_

“That sounds perfect, Max. I don’t like you wandering too far from home, either. It’s not safe.”

_“Okay! There’s a pizza place a few blocks from my house, want to meet me there at noon? It’s called Mario's.”_

“I’ll be there.”

_”Okay! Bye, Mr. Wayne!”_

“Goodbye, Maxwell.” Bruce ended the call and set his phone back on the couch next to him.

“Who was that?” Damian asked. Bruce looked up to see the child glaring at him.

“A kid I buy lunch for sometimes. He wants to meet today.” Bruce retrieved his book from the coffee table where he had set it and opened it to his bookmark.

“So you will be leaving, then?” Damian accused. Had Bruce angered Damian?

“In about an hour, but I’ll be back this afternoon.”

Damian took a deep breath before responding, “Very well.”

Bruce nodded and watched the child resume his drawing. Damian was hard to read sometimes. Was he angry, or just curious? Why would he be angry, though? Bruce replayed the exchange in his head a few times. Damian asked if he was leaving. Was he angry Bruce was leaving? Why would he? Bruce enjoyed just sitting in a room with the child, but Damian always acted like it was the worst thing in the world to spend time with Bruce. He always pouted and listened to something through headphones on his phone. Bruce had only scored this time with Damian because he found the boy in here drawing and joined him. No, he was probably just curious. Him being angry made no sense.

 ----

The pizza place Max suggested was decent. Bruce wasn’t a huge fan of pizza, but Max apparently loved it. Of course he did, he was a child. It had an outdoor seating section, and that’s where Bruce found Max sitting when he arrived at noon.

After ordering a cheese pizza to share, Bruce asked, “So how are you liking school?”

Max raised an eyebrow at Bruce. “School hasn’t started yet.”

“It hasn’t?” Wait. Maybe it hadn’t? Didn’t it start in August? Bruce honestly had no idea when school started. He hadn’t been in school for twenty years.

“No. It starts in September.” _September?_ That seemed a bit late. “How don’t you know that?,” Max accused, “I thought you had kids.”

Bruce laughed. “I do, but we homeschool Damian and Tim graduated early, so I don’t have any kids attending school.”

“I thought you said school is important? Why don’t you make Damian go?”  Max narrowed his eyes at Bruce.

“I will eventually, just not yet. He has a hard time getting along with other children.”

“Are other kids mean to him?”

“In a way,” Bruce said. He wasn’t really sure how to explain it to Max, and whether he even should. Damian probably would be bullied at school, but not after alienating every child in his grade first. The boy just did not know how to behave around children. Or people in general. He always felt the need to assert his superiority, and middle schoolers would not appreciate such an attitude. His own brothers barely tolerated it, and if Bruce were honest, it grated on him as well. Bruce should get the kid a friend his age, that might help him, but Bruce didn’t know any 12-year-olds, and most children would not be able to handle Damian. He was a little too violent. A little too cruel. He could try socializing Damian with some of the other League kids, but most League members were wary of Damian and probably would not allow their children around him. Besides, Damian would despise any prescribed friend Bruce gave him. Bruce sighed and returned his attention to the younger kid in front of him.

Once the pizza arrived, Bruce let Max lead the conversation, meaning they talked about everything and nothing all at the same time. By the end of the meal, Bruce agreed to meet Max at the pizza place every Saturday at noon, and so, a new tradition was born. Every week Max came, always wearing different clothes, always perfectly happy looking. It pleased Bruce to know the child was finally being cared for, even if the kid didn’t seem too thrilled to have the attention of a family.

\----

One Saturday in late October, everything seemed off to Bruce. Max arrived to the restaurant late. His clothes were wrinkled, like he had slept in them, and he looked exhausted, like he hadn’t slept at all. It was a strange combination, and it worried Bruce. Had something happened at home? Did he just wake up from a nap, and this was how he looked after one? Was he sick?

“Hey buddy, everything okay?” Bruce asked once Max sat down.

“I’m fine.” he said, slowly blinking. Yep. He was exhausted.

Bruce frowned and sat back in his chair. “Rough night?”

“No,” Max said as he laid his head down in his arms. Bruce suppressed a chuckle. It always amused him how children would say things like ‘I’m not tired’ while half asleep.

Bruce reached forward and gently brushed the hair out of Max’s face. In response, the boy simply closed his eyes. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, suddenly more concerned. It was so unlike Maxwell to be quiet.

Max nodded, but kept his eyes closed. Bruce frowned, but decided to leave Max be. If the boy was tired, there wasn’t much the man could do to help at this moment, except maybe let him take a catnap. He ordered their usual cheese pizza and two cokes while Max kept his head down and apparently drifted off to sleep, based on his breathing pattern.

The child looked peaceful while asleep. Bruce had never noticed how on edge he always appeared. Always alert. Had the kid ever truly relaxed around Bruce? He thought Max had let his guard down months ago, but now that he saw what trust looked like on the boy, he realized that he never had it before. _Now_ he had it, considering the child just trusted Bruce to watch over him while he slept, even if only subconsciously.

Max slept for the forty-five minutes it took for the pizza to arrive. Honestly, how long did it take to make a cheese pizza? Bruce thought in frustration. If anything, at least the restaurant’s incompetence to keep up with a lunch rush allowed Max to sleep longer. Bruce had to wake the child when the pizza finally did arrive, simply because the pan was hot and there was not enough room on the table for both his head and the pie.

“Morning,” Bruce joked when Max sat up.

“s’not mornin’” Max mumbled as he rubbed at his eyes. Bruce placed a piece of pizza on the boy’s plate and pushed his glass closer.

“You might feel better if you ate some,” he said as he put a piece on his own plate. Max glared at him while the man cut up his pizza and began eating it with his fork, but finally sat up and took a bite of his own pizza.

Bruce was right. After a piece and a half and a whole glass of soda, Max was back to his usual self. It was probably all that caffeine, Bruce thought. Maybe he shouldn’t be giving someone else’s kid caffeine, but it was already done. Besides, at least it helped wake the child up.

"Mr. Wayne guess who I saw last night?" Max asked after swallowing the last bite of his second piece. His feet were kicking back and forth causing him to bounce slightly as he spoke.

"Who's that?" Bruce replied as he served Max a third piece. The kid was hungry today.

"Nightwing!" the boy said excitedly, his arms reaching out in a grand 'tah-dah' gesture, "He was so cool, I saw him standing up on a roof then he jumped off the building and I thought he was going to die, but then he shot out a rope and swung on it like Tarzan and flipped up onto another building a block away! It was so awesome!" The excitement in Max's voice brought a smile to Bruce's face. But… where had he been so that he could see Nightwing last night? Dick _had_ been in Gotham last night, but not on the north side of town.

"Who is Nightwing? I've never heard of him,” Bruce finally said. He couldn’t decide whether he should scold Max for sneaking away at night, or just hope the child explained himself without being prodded.

"What? You've never heard of Nightwing??" Max put his hands on the table and pulled his legs up on his chair, so he was sitting on his knees. "I thought you were from Gotham! He's one of Batman's teammates!"

"Batman has a team?" he asked, feigning ignorance.  Bruce took a sip of his drink to hide a grin. Max was clearly feeling much better.

"Of course he has a team!" the child screeched, "There's Nightwing and Red Robin and Robin, of course, and Red Hood-"

"Isn't Red Hood a villain?" Bruce interrupted.

"He used to be, but now he's one of Batman's friends. Oh, and there's also-"

"How does a villain become friends with Batman?"

"I don't know!” the child huffed, “But they work together now and he even wears a-"

"Maxwell Allan George," a loud voice bellowed from half a block away behind Bruce. The man frowned as he watched the happy chatty seven-year-old vanish behind a paling face and timid expression.

Bruce turned to face the voice and saw a middle-aged woman wearing a black skirt and turquoise shirt stomping toward Bruce and Max. Max was trembling and playing with the zipper on his jacket when woman finally reached the table.

"What on earth are you doing here, young man," the woman spat, anger evident in her voice. Max shied away from her and averted his gaze down to his lap. "Have you any idea how worried your foster family is? How worried I've been? You have been missing for three days! We have been over this, you cannot run away." The woman reached forward and Max flinched before she grasped his arm to drag him to a standing position.

Bruce had seen enough. Between the drastic change in Max’s demeanor and the _flinching_ , Bruce knew he had to do something to protect this little boy. "Who exactly are you?" He asked.

"I could be asking you the same thing and more, like why did I find a child who has been missing for three days with you?" Three days? Max had been missing for three days? That must be why he looked so exhausted. Why his clothes were wrinkled. Why he had been in Gotham to see Nightwing last night. Why had Max run away?

"I am Bruce Wayne and I have lunch with him every Saturday."

"I am well aware of who you are, Mr. Wayne. Why you are having lunch with Max, on the other hand, is a puzzle. Mind your own business or I might just have to press kidnapping charges."

"I can assure you, Miss, that I did not kidnap him. I'm sure there are plenty of cameras around to prove that I met Max here, as I have every Saturday for the past two months, and every time I leave here without him. We met for lunch, I did not kidnap him. Now, please tell me who you are and why you are assaulting my lunch companion."

"I am not _assaulting_ him, Mr. Wayne. I am his Social Worker and will be returning him to his family."

"No!" Max screamed, and seeming to find his courage again, he yanked his arm free from the woman. "You can't make me! He _hits_ me! I won't go back!"

Hits him? His foster father _hits_ him? Why hadn’t Max said anything? He had shown no signs of such treatment. Made no hints at it.

"Maxwell, he does not. You always have some excuse for why you can’t stay there, and every one is a lie. My patience is wearing thing, young man."

"The foster home sucks! I won’t stay there, you can’t make me!" he shrieked. Why did it suck? Was he actually being abused at the home and his social worker was doing nothing to help? Or was Max lying, like the woman had claimed?

"Max, that is enough. We have discussed this. You are seven-years-old. If you keep running away, we will have to put you in the juvenile detention center."

What?! Bruce thought the city had quit with such a barbaric practice when Dick was a child. It was the entire reason the city granted him custody of his oldest child, because they had placed an innocent orphan in juvie when there wasn’t any space within the foster care system. They couldn’t put Max in there. He was too young, and he was not a delinquent.

Bruce stood and held up his hand, "If I may, I'm-"

"No, you may not. You are lucky I don't charge you with kidnapping, Mr. Wayne, now please mind your own business."

"Again, you will find no proof I kidnapped him. Now, as I was saying before you so rudely interrupted, I am a certified foster parent, why don't you place young Maxwell in my care. He and I have known each other for months. He might have an easier time adjusting to a new home if he already knows his new foster parent."

"Really?" Max said with a shy smile, "Please Ms. Tracy. Please? I promise I won't run away from Mr. Wayne."

Bruce smiled at Max. He was glad the child was excited about the prospect.

"Mr. Wayne you cannot make these kinds of offers. This is not how the system works. Max needs to be in a home with two parents who understand what he needs."

"Ms. Tracy I have adopted three children through foster care, each one with different issues and needs. If my single-parent nature were truly a problem, why have I been allowed to adopt three children? Why does CPS not come take my kids away now? I still have two living at home. I can certainly provide Maxwell with anything he needs. Max is causing you a lot of problems, problems that can be solved by placing him in my home. It seems like a logical solution. Furthermore, you must realize living with a single parent would be far more beneficial to Maxwell’s well being than being placed in juvie with a bunch of delinquent teenagers." By the end of his speech, Bruce was fuming. The woman’s reasoning was flawed, to say the least.

"Mr. Wayne this is highly unorthodox. It's completely against policy."

"And placing him in the detention center is unethical. Place him with me for just a little while and see how it goes. If it isn't working, then try something else, but if it is working, then great. Max is happy and all problems are solved."

"Mr. Wayne, little boys require a lot."

"I am well aware. I have a twelve year old and seventeen year old now. I took in my oldest son, who I fostered until he reached adulthood, when he was eight. I assure you, Maxwell will be well cared for and safe in my home."

The woman sighed and rubbed her forehead. "Okay. Fine. Maxwell, we need to return to the Garcia's to collect your things, then I will place you in Mr. Wayne's care."

"Yes! Thank you!" the little boy squealed, the happy smile that vanished just a few minutes before on his face once more. "Thank you thank you thank you!"

With a small smile, the woman turned to Bruce, "Okay, so I have never seen him smile. That's-” she shook her head, “anyway. We should have your information in the system if you really are certified. Has any of it changed that you're aware of?"

"No, it shouldn't have," Bruce pulled out a business card from his pocket and wrote a number on the back, "but here's my card with my personal cell number on the back."

"Thank you. I think I can have him ready by 4, does that work for you? I'll bring him to your house."

"Yes, I will be there. Thank you, Ms. Tracy."

"Of course. We will see you in a few hours."

"See you soon, Mr. Wayne!" Max smiled brightly as he waved to Bruce.

"Goodbye Maxwell, I look forward to seeing you this afternoon." Bruce said softly. He was ecstatic. He hadn't realized that this was what he wanted all along: to bring Max home with him. How would the others react? Alfred was going to give him his "I'm disappointed in you' glare. Dick would probably joke that he was collecting more orphans. Jason would accuse him of replacing the replacement's replacement, or something like that. Would Damian try to kill Maxwell? Hmm. Maybe he should have thought this through more and discussed it with the others first. Oh well, too late now. It's not like he had the time to call a family meeting anyway, it had all happened so fast. One minute they were discussing Batman and the next Bruce was taking the child in.

Max was coming home. That's all Bruce could think of as he walked back to his car. He was coming home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, Bruce is happy!
> 
> As of right now I have 20 chapters outlined for this story, but this chapter here was supposed to be chapter 3, so.... This is what happens when I write. Nothing goes in the direction I originally planned. It's so exciting!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! The feedback I've gotten has given me so much motivation. Thanks. <3


	7. Cracks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, cracks form unnoticed and are only made known when they become so wide it's difficult to see anything but the canyon. Is it possible to repair the damage at that point, or is it too late?

Bruce's mood only increased on his way home.  He thought about all the things he was going to do with Maxwell now that the child would be living with him.  All the things he and Damian could do with the boy.  Maybe they could bring Max to a baseball game, Max said he liked baseball and Bruce had never brought Damian to one, either. That could be fun.  

Once he arrived home, Bruce whistled as he sauntered into the kitchen.  Alfred was hard at work baking cookies.  Perfect, Bruce thought, Max was going to love Alfred's cranberry cookies.  Stealing a treat from the cooling rack, Bruce smiled and said “Hey Alfred.”

“Good afternoon, Master Bruce.” Alfred cheered, “What has you in such a good mood today?”

Suddenly, Bruce was nervous. Scared, almost, to admit to taking in another child. He felt like a kid bringing home a stray animal to his parents, which was ridiculous, because children were not animals. And yet, that was the feeling. Alfred loved all of Bruce’s children, though, and he was sure the older man would come to love Max as well, but would he resent having another short person to look after? By taking in Maxwell, he was adding a lot of work to Alfred’s plate. The man acted as a nanny as well as a butler for the family.

“Well,” Bruce started. How should he put it?

Alfred wiped his hands on his apron and spun around to face the man he raised. “Out with it, Master Bruce.”

Bruce rubbed the back of his neck and looked out the window into the yard. The fall colors were brilliant this year, and the estate grounds were one of the best places in Gotham to view them. “You know the child I’ve been spending time with all summer? Maxwell?”

“I assume he will be living with us, then?”

Of course Alfred would have already known. He always seemed to know what Bruce wanted and what he was going to do long before Bruce knew himself. “Am I that easy to read?”

“I know you well, Master Bruce.” Alfred smiled. “When shall we expect the new Master to arrive?”

“Today at four.”

“Excellent, I shall prepare a room. I suggest you inform the boys. This is something they should hear from their father sooner rather than later. Perhaps a family dinner is in order this evening?”

“Right, of course. Thanks, Alfred.” The old butler smiled and placed the last sheet of cookies on the stove top and turned off the heat. Bruce watched him hurry out of the kitchen and toward the family wing of the manor. Now for the truly hard part. Telling his kids.

He tried to think of an order to call them. He could never find a truly ‘fair’ way of doing things with the boys. How was it fair that Dick always got to go first, just because he was older? Jason constantly accused Bruce of favoring Dick because of it. It was funny, Dick thought Jason was the favorite. Tim thought Damian was the favorite, and vice versa. He wondered if the boys even realized none of them agreed on who the favorite was? Of course, he _did not_ have a favorite.

Back to the dilemma at hand. If he were to do things in order of how long someone’s been his son, Damian would be second on the list, but he’s personally known the boy for the shortest amount of time. Alphabetical order? How ridiculous is that? Ordering his children as if they were books on a shelf. Here Damian, you get to go first because your name starts with a D. Sorry, Timothy, you will be last. Maybe your parents should have named you Aaron. Alphabetical by last name? Same problem. Also insulting. With a sigh, he decided to just do the birth order thing. At least it’s the order society deemed acceptable.

It took a ring and a half for Dick to answer the phone. _”Bruce? What’s wrong?”_ he answered. Not even a ‘hello,’ but a ‘whats wrong?’ Bruce should probably call his oldest son more often.

“Nothing, nothing. I wanted to invite you to dinner tonight.”

_“Dinner? Alfred’s making you personally invite me? What’s wrong? What did you do?”_

Bruce shifted and leaned against the counter. “Well. You remember that little boy we rescued a couple months back? Max?”

_“The one in the warehouse with the shit dad?”_

“Yes.”

 _“Uh huh….”_ Bruce could hear the confusion in his son’s voice. This was a random thing to be calling about, if one did not know the full context.

“Well, I will be fostering him starting this afternoon.” he admitted. Bruce braced himself for Dick’s reaction, hoping it would be positive. Dick liked kids, right? He loved Damian, after all.

 _“What?”_ Dick shot, _“Why didn’t you tell me you were applying for custody?”_

“Because I wasn’t. It just happened. I have only known about an hour.”

_“What about Damian?”_

“What _about_ Damian?”

 _“Did you even think about what this would do to him? You hardly spend time with him as is, now you’re replacing him?”_   Seriously? Bruce expected this line of thought from Jason, not Dick. How could Dick possibly think Bruce would replace one of his sons?

“I am not _replacing him._ ” he defended.

_“He won’t see it that way. You aren’t making this kid Robin, are you?”_

“No, of course not!” Bruce was getting annoyed now. This was not the reaction he was hoping for at all. “He doesn’t even know about Batman.”

_“Have you told Damian yet?”_

“No, I am telling you first.”

_“Tell him before the kid shows up, and stress that you aren’t replacing him. And for God sake, Bruce, don’t push him off to the side in favor of the younger kid. He’s already insecure enough about his position in this family as the only child you didn’t choose. Now you’re choosing another child?”_

“He is? Are you sure? He is always going on about how he’s my blood and therefore superior.”

_“The hell, Bruce? Do you ever talk to him? He does actually open up if you talk to him. If you at least pretend to care.”_

“I do care,” Bruce shouted.

_“Well you fooled us.”_

“Dick…”

_“What time is dinner, Bruce?”_

“Seven.”

 _“Okay, I’ll be there.”_ Dick hung up.

Bruce set his phone on the counter and rubbed his face. That was not the reaction he was expecting. They thought he didn’t care about Damian? He loved Damian, how could they think that? Who, exactly, was they? Did _Damian_ think that? If Bruce were going to face another conversation like that, he would need a drink. But.. it would not be in his best interest to drink two hours before a social worker came over. Instead, he decided to brew a pot of coffee.

After drinking half a cup, he finally unlocked his phone again and navigated to Jason’s contact. Pressing call, he put the phone to his ear.

Four rings.

Five.

Six.

A computer voice announced that the number did not have a voicemail set up. Bruce hung up and redialed. After one ring, he got the same message. Of course Jason wouldn’t answer his phone for Bruce. Maybe he should have used the house phone, but now that Jason knew it was Bruce, he would not answer even the house phone’s number.

Bruce decided to just text the boy instead. _“Dinner at 7 at the manor.”_

The reply came quick. _“The fuck do I care?”_

 _“I’m taking in another kid and I want him to meet you,”_ he typed out. It showed as read the instant it was delivered.

Bruce started when Jason’s number appeared on his screen. He pressed the answer button. “Jason.”

 _“What the_ fuck? _What the actual fuck? You have no business taking in another kid. Haven’t you screwed up enough orphans?”_

“Jason, I-”

 _“No. You listen,”_ the man ranted, _”Tim is never over at the manor anymore, he feels like he doesn’t have a place there now that you have Damian. Damian feels like you hate him and only keep him around because it would be bad for your image to kick out your blood son. I won’t even go into how you screwed up with me. Dick is the only one who isn’t terribly fucked up by you, and that’s probably just because he’s the only one you love.”_

“Jason, I-”

 _“No. Shut up. Now you’re taking in another kid. You’re just gonna push Tim and Damian away even more. Do you even care about them?_ ”

“Of course I do, I-”

 _“Obviously you don’t, if you’re doing this to them. I’ll be at dinner tonight, only to make sure the demon brat doesn’t kill the new kid, since I know you never try to stop him.”_ The line went silent and Bruce knew his son had hung up without waiting for a response.

Bruce wanted to scream. How had he screwed so badly? Why could he not see any of this? Why did _Jason_ see it and not him? Tim felt he didn’t have a place here anymore? Damian thought Bruce _hated_ him? Maybe it was a horrible idea to bring another child into this home. He couldn’t just change his mind, though. That would destroy Maxwell. The kid needed someone, and Bruce had been that someone he latched onto. He couldn’t just push him away and say ‘sorry, kid, but my other kids need me more.’ No. Bruce had to find a way to fix this and welcome Max into the family. He had no idea how to do that, but one thing he did know was dinner was going to be a disaster.

Still wishing he could down a pint of rum, Bruce navigated to Tim’s contact on his phone and called. It took four rings for Tim to answer.

 _“Hey Bruce,”_ he said. There was no hint of worry or anger in his voice. No happiness either, Tim wasn’t smiling, but Tim often held a neutral expression on his face when he was perfectly content. This was good. Maybe this call would go better.

“Hey, Timmy.” Bruce forced a smile. “I wanted to invite you to dinner tonight.”

_“Oh? Why?”_

“Dick and Jason are coming,” Bruce offered.

 _“You convinced Jason to come over for dinner?”_ Tim asked, skepticism evident in his voice.

“Yeah, well you see. You remember Maxwell George?” Bruce grimaced, waiting for Tim to explode like the old two.

Instead, the boy chuckled, _“You finally adopting him?”_

Relief. That’s what Bruce felt. Relief and annoyance. Only now did he remember Tim joking that first night that he wanted to adopt the boy. “Not quite. But I am fostering him.”

The boy laughed. _“Of course. Is the dinner so we can all meet him, then?”_

“Yeah. CPS is bringing him over in about an hour.” Bruce smiled. Tim and Max would get along well, he thought.

_“What about the brat?”_

“What?” And Bruce thought he had gotten off easy with Tim.

_“Damian. What about him?”_

“I’m going to talk to him.”

 _“Bruce,”_ Tim warned, _“You can’t let him try to kill Maxwell. The rest of us can hold our own against the demon, but not a little kid without training.”_

“I’ll talk to him.”

_“I’m serious. Damian’s the older brother now. He can’t treat Max the way he treats the rest of us.”_

“Tim. I’ll talk to him,” he repeated slower. Damian wouldn’t kill a child. He was pretty sure he wouldn’t, at least. The preteen had not made a serious attempt on Tim’s life in a year, anyway. So it’s not like he regularly attempted to off Tim, either.

 _“Okay,”_ Tim sighed, _“What time tonight?”_

“Seven.”

 _“Okay. See you then.”_ Tim ended the call and Bruce pocketed his phone.

That went better than expected, but of course Tim wouldn’t express his own insecurities. Tim never told anyone when something was bothering him. When he was in pain. He just dealt with whatever life threw at him. Alone. He never wanted to drag anyone around him down, too. Bruce groaned. He really needed to spend more time with the boy. Maybe they could patrol together sometime. Work on a case together, soon. That would help.

With 45 minutes left until Ms. Tracy and Maxwell were set to arrive, Bruce left the kitchen in search of Damian. He found the boy sitting in the study watching youtube on his phone. The preteen had the hood of his sweatshirt up over his head, mostly obscuring his face. He had his back against an armrest and his feet up on the couch, and was sunk down into the couch in such a way that made him seem tiny. Like he was hiding from the world. His natural state of annoyance mixed with anger clear on his face as he glared at his phone, pretending to not notice Bruce.

With a frown, Bruce walked over to the couch and stood next to the spot where Damian’s feet where. The boy grumbled when Bruce motioned for him to remove his feet from the couch, and rested his head in his hand on the armrest. He was already in a bad mood, Bruce noted. He wondered why.

“Hey, kiddo, what are you watching?”

“A documentary about the Battle of Thermopylae.” the child answered. Bruce sometimes wished the kid watched normal stuff, like gaming videos. What did Tim always watch? ‘Let’s Play’ videos? Instead it was always something educational with Damian. Something about real violence in the world. Current events, historical events. Not that it was a bad thing his son enjoyed learning, but he was 12! He should at least have some sort of fun. He didn’t like the boy’s entire life being centered around violence.

Bruce nodded. “The boys are all coming over for dinner tonight.”

“Must they?” Damian sneered.

Bruce sighed. This was going to be painful. “Yes. They are coming over to meet a new person that will be living here.”

Damian sat up and faced his father. “What?” he hissed.

“Yes. Do you remember that case Dick and I worked on all summer? The one that ended with us rescuing a street kid?”

Damian’s eyes narrowed as he said, “Of course I do, Father.”

“Well, Child Protective Services was going to place him in the Juvenile Detention Center, so I offered to foster him instead.”

Damian’s face went blank. It was actually more frightening than his anger face. At least then Bruce knew what was going on in his son’s head, but now he was clueless. “Just like what you did with Grayson?” Damian murmured.

“Kind of.” He had already noted the similarity in the how he gained custody, of course, but there really was not anything else similar between Dick and Max. Max wasn’t even an orphan.

“Am-” Damian paused and looked away. “Am I not adequate?” he asked, his voice small. Suddenly, he sounded like the 12-year-old he was.

“What, Damian?” What did he mean by that? Was he not adequate? Adequate as his son? Of course he was. Oh god, Jason was right. “Damian, I-”

The boy jumped up and spun to face his father, rage now radiating out and directed right toward Bruce. “I do everything you say. I follow the stupid rules. I obey. I don’t sneak away, I don’t kill, I don’t torture. I have given up so much for this, I have done so much for you. Why is it not enough?” he shouted. If Bruce weren’t mistaken, it looked like Damian was on the verge of tears.

“Damian, this has nothing to do with you.”

“So I could never be good enough?” he said with a hollowness in his eyes that terrified Bruce.

“No, Damian-” But before Bruce could continue, Damian stormed out of the room and slammed the door behind him. The boy just thought he meant ‘no’ you aren’t good enough, not ‘no Damian, you’re wrong’ like Bruce had been trying to say. Bruce gave himself a second to pull at his hair in frustration and grief. He was definitely a terrible father. “Damian!” he shouted, as he jumped up to chase the boy out.

He found his son in his room, furiously shoving clothing into a bag. “Damian, what are you doing?” he exasperated.

“Leaving.” he spat, “If you’re replacing me, there is no reason to stay.”

Bruce walked into the room and sat on the child’s bed. “Damian, son, I am not replacing you.” He patted on the bed next to him, and waited for Damian to obey and sit next to his father. “I would never replace you.”

“You are bringing in a new child.”

Be gentle, he thought. This was not the time to be annoyed with Damian. Not the time to be upset with the child’s flawed reasoning. Maybe the time to be upset with himself. Yes. This was all on him. “Not to replace you, though. Did Jason replace Dick?”

Damian hesitated before shaking his head.

“He thought I was replacing him. Dick,” he clarified, “at first, but he eventually realized that wasn’t the case.”

“Drake replaced Todd.”

Bruce sighed. He had heard this so many times from Jason. It was simply not true, but no matter how often he said it, he couldn’t seem to convince Jason of it. “No, he did not. We believed Jason to be dead, and I did not set out to find a new kid to fill the void left in the family. Tim never filled that void, either. Only Jason did, once we learned he was not dead. Tim was an addition to the family, not a replacement.”

“I replaced Drake.” The anger in the boy’s voice was lessening.

“No, you did not. Did I kick Tim out when you came around?”

“Grayson did.” That… was kind of true. It had been what was needed. Dick had been overwhelmed. They believed Bruce to be dead, and Dick was suddenly responsible for a 10-year-old assassin. He had to give Damian Robin in order to instill morals into the child. It had worked, too. The boy Bruce had known before disappearing was vastly different than the boy he returned home to, but he supposed that still did not change the fact that Dick _had_ replaced Tim with Damian.

“Dick gave you Robin, he did not replace Tim as my son.”

“Will you be giving this new child Robin?”

Bruce had not even thought of that, but it was the conclusion two of his four sons reached. He had not for one second considered bringing Max into their vigilante world. He didn’t have to think about it, because it was not happening. Max was too young, for starters, not to mention untrained. The child seemed to waffle between flight, fight, and freeze when overcome with fear, which was not good for a vigilante. No. No, he was not putting Maxwell in a cape. “No, of course not. You are Robin, Damian. You. I’m not changing that.”

“Then why adopt him?” That… huh. Bruce had never adopted a child without making him Robin. Bruce hadn’t really thought about that. Now Dick and Damian’s leapt to conclusion made a hell of a lot more sense.

“Because he needs a family and we can provide him one.”

“Tt,” Damian clicked. Bruce put his arm around the boy and pulled him close.

“Be nice to him, okay?” he said as he rested his head in the boy’s hair, “Can you do that? He doesn’t know about Batman, and he’s been through a lot. If you don’t want to be nice, you can at least leave him alone.”

Damian shifted in his father’s grasp. “How old is he?”

“Seven.”

“Father,” Damian asserted, “I would never harm a mere child.”

“I know, I wasn’t suggesting you would. He could really use a big brother, though.”

“Tt. He is not my brother.” Bruce squeezed Damian one last time before releasing him.

Bruce listened as footsteps approached in the hall.  “Master Bruce,” Alfred announced from the door, “A Ms. Tracy Evans has arrived with young Master Maxwell. They are awaiting your company in the parlor.”

“Thanks, Alfred,” Bruce said, standing. “Shall we go meet him, kiddo?”

Damian huffed as he stood as well, “I believe it is unavoidable at this point, Father.”

Bruce smiled and placed his arm around Damian’s shoulder as they made their way downstairs. Well, Bruce thought, informing his boys had not gone anything like he was anticipating, but now he knew a lot more about his family. He saw the cracks in his relationships he needed to fix. He just hoped it wasn’t too late to patch them up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damian meets Max in the next chapter, so don't miss it!
> 
> It's unlikely I'll get a chapter out tomorrow. I only have basic notes and a couple pieces of dialogue written, and Monday is my busy day so I won't have time to work on it. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! I love seeing your comments and appreciate every one of them. <3


	8. Fetch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, nothing goes as you expect. Maybe that's okay.

The walk to the parlor might have only taken a minute, but it felt like a year to Bruce. Contrary to his sons’ beliefs—really everyone’s belief—Bruce did have emotions. He felt them all the time. Expressing them, however, was not something he did well. Right now he was overwhelmed with emotions. He was happy and excited about taking in Max, nervous about the social worker and her reaction to the house and Damian, angry with himself for allowing his family to fall apart, and sad that his son thought he could be replaced. No. Sad wasn’t the right word. It was more than sad, it was a gut wrenching feeling that tore at his chest, filled with sadness, anger, and shame. 

As he walked the halls, passing all the paintings and photographs of his life and his ancestors, Bruce slowly counted to 10. Repeatedly. All in an attempt to quell his emotions so he could face Ms. Tracy _Evans_ with his expected billionaire demeanor. Under his arm, he felt Damian grow more tense the closer to the parlor they got. How could his own son think he hated him? Bruce rubbed his boy’s arm in reassurance, but it did nothing to relax the child. 

Bruce stopped before the french doors, the final barrier between the pair and the little boy he had come to care about so deeply. How did that even happen? How did random children keep worming their way under his armor? Fifteen years ago, he thought he would never be capable of love again. Now he had four children. Four amazing sons he loved more than life itself, and another child quickly winning his heart. 

With a squeeze of Damian’s shoulder, Bruce released his youngest son and opened the door. 

Deep breath. 

Step through. 

Smile. 

“Good afternoon, Ms. Evans. Maxwell, I’m very glad to see you. Welcome to my home.” Bruce cheered with a warm smile as his gaze lingered on the child. He seemed… different. Off. He was nervous. No. He was apprehensive, as if he were having second thoughts. Maybe Bruce didn’t have as much trust as he had assumed at lunch. That’s okay, Bruce mused, he had handled distrustful children in the past. Jason, mostly. He eventually won his second son over, he could do it with Max as well. 

“Mr. Wayne,” the social worker said shortly, “I have brought some paperwork we need to fill out.” 

“Of course, whatever you need.” Bruce smiled and placed a hand on Damian’s shoulder, who had plastered himself to Bruce’s side. “This is my son, Damian. Damian, this is Max.”

Max smiled shyly and said “Hi.” Damian, however, continued to glare at the younger child. Well… at least he hadn’t made some scathing comment or tried to jump the kid. 

After a _gentle_ suggestion from Bruce in the way of a squeeze of his shoulder, Damian finally clicked his tongue and said “Hello.”

Tracy gave Damian a very disapproving glance before raising an eyebrow at Bruce, who tried his best to reassure her through a smile that Damian was not a threat to Max. Even if he wasn’t entirely sure that were true. 

As if the man could sense the awkward tension in the room, Alfred stepped inside and offered, “Master Damian, shall we show Master Maxwell to his room so he can unpack his belongings?”

Max nodded slowly, his face void of all emotion, while he clutched the backpack he wore. Was that really all he owned? 

“I see no reason for me to accompany you,” Damian said while crossing his arms in defiance. 

“Damian.” Bruce’s voice was low, conveying his authority that his word was final. “You will do as Alfred says.” Bruce took note of the minute flinch his sharp tone elicited from Maxwell. 

After the boys had followed Alfred out, one more willingly than the other, Bruce turned to Ms. Evans. “I didn’t know Max could be that quiet. Is he okay?”

The social worker frowned. “He’s had a rough few months, and is most likely just nervous. He really disliked his last foster home, and I honestly don’t know why. It’s one of the best homes I have, and they all seemed to adore him, even if he could be a bit… prickly.”

Bruce grinned, “Maxwell? Prickly?” They had not met Damian, he added silently. He motioned to the chairs on either side of the coffee table, where a pot of tea was setting. “Tea?”

She nodded. “Mr. Wayne, the little boy you know is very different from the one I and his foster family know. I have never seen that child you were having lunch with. He was so loud, expressive, and most notably, happy. Just so we are clear, _that_ is the only reason I am authorizing this placement. Seeing Max like that… I care about him. I want him to be happy.”

“Noted. I believe we have the same motives, then.” Bruce smiled and handed her a cup of tea before pouring himself one.

“I have already gone toe-to-toe with my boss just to make this happen. My job could be on the line if this turns out to be the wrong decision. If I suspect you are mistreating that child, or any of your children frankly, I will investigate. Do you understand? I do not care how rich you are.”

“Of course, Ms. Evans. I would expect nothing less from Child _Protective_ Services.”

The social worker visibly relaxed before taking a sip from her cup. “This is incredible.”

“Alfred brews a mean tea.”

“How much of Maxwell’s past do you know, Mr. Wayne?”

Everything, Bruce thought. Well, everything CPS already knew, plus perhaps a little more. He knew nothing of the child’s first six years of life, however. “Not much, I’m afraid. I know his mother is dead and his father is in jail. Before his father went to jail, he neglected the boy to the point of starvation. At least, I assume. That last bit I pieced together based off observations I’ve made.”

“How long have you known Max?”

“I met him in June.”

“You assumed his father was neglecting him, and yet you never called us?” The woman’s disapproval tore at Bruce. She wouldn’t call off the placement for this, would she? Bruce would probably forever regret not calling CPS the first time he spotted Max, but he remembered how poorly Jason reacted to social workers. Bruce wasn’t a huge fan of CPS himself, and hindsight is always clearer than while in the moment. Logically, he knew he really had no idea what the child’s situation was. That would not be enough to quell the guilt, however.

Bruce frowned. “No. I did not suspect at that point. I had no idea he even had parents until after he had been placed into foster care. I had assumed the child was a homeless orphan, and I’ve had experience with such children in the past. Even so, he usually appeared clean, so I honestly had no idea what his deal was. All I did was offer him lunch each day. I never pried into his life, and he never told me anything. I actually didn’t even know his full name until you said it earlier.” That was a lie, of course, because Batman knew the child's name, but _Bruce Wayne_ was never told.

For the next ten minutes, Bruce and Tracy discussed what CPS knew about Max, as well as his apparent behavior problems. He ran off often, rarely slept in his own bed, skipped school, mouthed off, and had apparently attacked his foster brother on multiple occasions, supposedly unprovoked. Maxwell never seemed violent to Bruce, but clearly there was a lot about the boy he did not know. 

In the middle of signing paperwork, Alfred returned to the parlor with the boys. “If you will excuse me, I need to begin preparing dinner,” the butler said before leaving once more. 

Damian pulled his hood up and sat on the couch. The furniture in the parlor was not very comfortable. It was not meant to be, it was a parlor, not a living room. It was meant for entertaining guests in a proper, high-class manner. Damian managed to sink down into the wingback couch as if it were a fluffy one, regardless.

“Did you like your room, Max?” Bruce asked while skimming a document that stated he would be responsible for Maxwell’s medical treatment, but acknowledging that the child had state health insurance as a ward of the state. Bruce wouldn’t even bother using the insurance. Private doctors were much more convenient. 

Max nodded and stated, “It’s fine.” 

“You can decorate it however you like. We’ll probably go shopping tomorrow, we can look at stuff for it then. Okay?” One last signature and Bruce was done. This one was about the stipend he would receive from the state to assist in the care of Max. Every penny of that would go into a trust fund for the boy to receive when he was in college. 

Bruce had to look up to see Max nod. There was an expression on his face Bruce could not quite place. He seemed… distant. “Everything okay?”

He nodded again. Bruce turned to the boy’s social worker for help. What was going on? The woman simply shrugged. “Max. Are you good here? I really need to get going.”

“I’m fine. Thank you, Ms. Tracy,” he said almost robotically. Bruce and Tracy exchanged one last frown before she wished them a good day and showed herself out. 

Bruce knelt down in front of Max, who had refused to take a seat anywhere, and gently brushed at the child’s bangs. Maxwell stiffened at the touch and took a step back. “Max, what’s wrong? What’s bothering you? It’s just me.”

Max seemed to consider Bruce for several long moments before finally stammering, “You- you’re not gonna come into my room, are you?”

Bruce’s heart stopped.

What did the child mean? He tried to come up with a reasonable explanation for the concern. Teenagers hated having their parents in their room. His teenagers had, at least. Hell, Damian wasn’t even a teen yet and he disliked Bruce intruding on his personal space. He did remember Max saying he hated sharing his room. He was used to having his own space, to being alone. He wanted to know if his room was his own. That’s what he meant. 

“Do you want me in your room?”

“No!” he said, almost too quickly, with a hint of desperation. 

“Okay,” Bruce said slowly, “I won’t. Max you get to control who goes into your room. It’s yours, you don’t have to share it with anyone.” Bruce looked over at Damian, who was staring at the younger child with a blank expression. 

Max nodded slowly as the sound of a collar jingling drew everyone’s attention to the doorway. Titus came tramping in, tail wagging high. Oh shit, Bruce thought. He forgot to warn Max about this absolutely massive dog, who was almost as tall as Max’s shoulders. As if sensing his father’s thoughts, Damian flipped over the couch and grasped the dog’s collar, holding him back from knocking his new playmate over. The dog loved children. 

“You have a dog!” Max shouted just as a huge grin plastered across his face. He knelt down to where Damian was holding Titus and allowed the dog to slobber all over his face while he giggled. Bruce smiled. The happy little Max he knew was in there, after all. 

“Titus, cease this at once,” Damian commanded, just as his dog ignored him. 

“Hi, Titus!” Max scratched at the great dane’s neck. “Do you like to play fetch?” Max looked up at Damian and repeated his question. “Does he like to play fetch?”

“He is a _dog_ ” Damian sneered. 

Max hopped up and begged, “Can we go play?”

Damian looked conflicted. He loved playing with his dog, but probably did not want to play with his dog with Max. He often tried to teach Titus to ignore his brothers. It never worked, the dog loved attention, but the desire to have his dog love only him was still there. Damian looked between Titus and Max a few times before turning to Bruce. “Would that be acceptable, Father?”

Bruce suppressed a smile. Yes, Damian, that would be acceptable. Yes, you may go play with your new foster brother. Yes, you may go behave like a child for a couple hours. “Titus could use the energy release,” he said instead, “but don’t forget about dinner.”

Damian nodded and glanced begrudgingly at Maxwell before leading the child and the dog through the house and out onto the back lawn. 

\----

Dick was the first to arrive for dinner. He came an hour early. The man anticipated Bruce screwing up with Damian and having to pick up the pieces, Bruce thought. Dick was expecting to find Damian hiding in his room, thinking about all the ways he could kill the new child to earn his father’s love. Or perhaps he expected Damian and Bruce to be screaming at each other. Or maybe to find Damian sitting outside where Bruce kicked him out in favor of Max. Okay, that one was ridiculous, Bruce was sure Dick knew he would never kick Damian out. Right?

Bruce waited for his oldest to find him in the library, where he was standing at a window smiling. Even his dark thoughts couldn’t ruin this moment. 

Damian and Max were outside, as they had been for an hour at that point. At first, Damian had stood stiffly while Max played fetch with Titus. Eventually, though, Max had convinced Damian to join. Bruce wished he could hear what the children were saying, so he could know how Max had done that, but he did not want to ruin the moment. He was shocked it was even happening, he was not going to put an end to it by joining them. Now the boys were playing keep away. Well, it had started that way, but Titus eventually gave up and just laid down between Max and Damian, pouting and waiting for one of them to miss a toss so he could steal the football the boys were passing back and forth. 

Bruce looked up briefly when Dick entered the room. “What are you doing in here? Where’re the kids?”

No response was required, because Dick followed Bruce’s gaze and spotted the boys throwing the ball back and forth. They could not see Damian’s face, because his back was to the window, but Max was laughing and talking. _To Damian._

“Bruce,” Dick said in wonder, “I was wrong. This was a good idea.”

“I don’t recall you saying it was a bad idea. Jason said that,” Bruce sighed, “you said I hadn’t thought about Damian.”

“I strongly implied it was a terrible idea.”

“You were right,” Bruce conceded, “I hadn’t considered Damian. It was impulsive and I didn’t think about anyone but Maxwell.” He wasn’t quite sure why he just admitted that to Richard, but it came out of his mouth before he could stop it.

Dick simply laughed. “I didn’t know Dami knew how to play with other children.”

Neither did Bruce. This was… shocking. He couldn’t explain it any other way. It was shocking. His twelve-year-old assassin son was outside with a child Bruce expected him to despise… playing. Like a normal child. _Damian._

Max missed a catch and Titus leapt into action, snatching the tumbling football before Max could recover it. The dog darted off into the bushes and away from the house while a shouting Max and Damian chased after him. 

“Do you think he’s ready for school?” Bruce finally said.

Richard leaned his back against the wall and studied Bruce. “If he can be this civil with a child I thought he’d be jealous of, then yes. I think he is.”

That was the same line of thought Bruce had. He wasn’t naive enough to think that playing with the boy once meant Damian was suddenly ‘fixed.’ Tim and Damian did get along occasionally, after all. They could be civil. He knew this behavior did not mean Damian would be best friends with Max, but it was promising to know that his son _could_ behave so well. Perhaps the next step would be to put him in school, so he could get more exposure to children his own age. It would not be fun for either Damian or Bruce. The kid would fight him on it, most likely, but it seemed like the correct next step if they were to ever bring Damian’s stunted social skills up to his age level.

Bruce and Dick stood in the library for the next hour, quietly observing the two youngest members of the family play. Dick recorded a clip of it on his phone and shared it in a group text chat that involved everyone but Damian, and Bruce saved it to his own phone. Jason and Tim both responded with the general reaction of ‘wtf’ before both arrived to the Manor for dinner, together. 

It had been a long, emotionally exhausting day, and it was only 7. Bruce wasn’t really a believing man, but he was praying the dinner went smoothly while he made his way to the dinning room to greet his middle sons. Maybe, just maybe, they could manage a family dinner without it turning into a shouting match.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a hard time with this chapter. I think I like how it turned out. Let me know your reactions!


	9. Rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a long day, a night off is in order.

It was a strange feeling, having all the boys under one roof. Nice. Especially since they Joker hadn’t broken out of Arkham this time. They weren’t here because they were in danger, or because the city was falling apart. No. They were here because Bruce asked them to dinner, and they all accepted. 

Bruce found Tim and Jason in the kitchen with Alfred. The elderly butler was like a grandfather to his children, and Bruce loved the relationship they all had with him. Alfred adored each one of Bruce’s children and had a massive role in raising them. He felt bad that the boys never came to see Alfred simply because they wanted to avoid Bruce. 

The tension in the room rose significantly when Bruce entered. The happy chatter he had heard from the hall ceased the moment his presence was made known. Jason stiffened and looked away from Bruce, while Tim shot a half smile toward his mentor. Alfred continued on stirring whatever it was he had in a pot on the stove, pretending to not notice the suffocating tension in the room.

“How was traffic?” Bruce asked, unsure of what else to say. He probably should have said something like ‘hi boys,’ or ‘I’m glad to see you guys’ or ‘thanks for coming to dinner, I miss you two.’ But instead he said ‘How was traffic?’ Stupid. Stupid and cold and uncaring. Of course traffic was fine. It’s Saturday.

Tim nodded and responded that it was fine, while Jason simply shifted against the counter he was leaning on. Bruce wasn’t sure how to make Jason comfortable in his home. At least, not while he was around. The boy was fine as long as Bruce was no where in sight. 

“Master Bruce,” Alfred interjected, breaking the silence, “Would you go fetch the three missing young masters, so that I may serve dinner?” 

Bruce smiled and said, “Sure thing,” glad to have something to do other than stand awkwardly in the kitchen. 

He hurried off to the back lawn where he last saw the boys. Outside he quickly found Dick and Damian sitting on a stone bench that overlooked the rest of the estate. It was one of Bruce’s favorite spots to sit and contemplate whatever problem he was working through. 

“-you, you know that right?” Dick was saying, his voice soft and caring. It wasn’t a voice Bruce heard often. His eldest rarely used it, and usually used it only on Damian when trying to reassure the child of something. 

Off in the distance, Bruce could see Maxwell playing with Titus. The dog was chasing his new playmate around, who was taunting him with a chew toy. The carefree play of a child was something the manor hadn’t seen in years. Not since Dick was a child. It was nice to hear laughter again.

“No, he doesn’t.” Damian croaked. The hitch in his son’s voice made Bruce frown. The twelve-year-old rarely showed any emotion besides rage. Bruce often wondered if the child even felt other emotions. Of course he did, he had to. His _mother_ just conditioned him to not express them. So instead of crying or laughing, sighing for frowning, Damian screamed. He huffed, he threw tantrums, and he lashed out both verbally and physically. It was the only way he had to express himself. The only way he was allowed to without a beating. God did Bruce hate Talia. 

Dick wrapped his arms around Damian and pulled him in close. Damian protested with a weak, “Unhand me, Richard,” but did not struggle otherwise. 

“I love you, Little D” Dick said. He planted a kiss in the boy’s hair and turned his head to face Bruce. With a frown, he locked eyes with his adoptive father. In those eyes, Bruce could see all the scathing comments about his parenting Dick was holding back. The 24-year-old made it look so easy. How did it come so easy to him? He always seemed to know what to say to Damian to calm him down, to reassure him, to cheer him up. Bruce, on the other hand, could only anger the child. Maybe Dick should have kept him. He’d be happier with Dick.

“I know,” Damian whispered, the sadness in his voice heart wrenching to Bruce. His boy was so sad, and it was probably Bruce’s fault. The laughter in the distance cut through the somber mood, making Bruce even more uncomfortable. The two children were so different.

With a deep breath, Bruce continued forward to sit next to Damian on the bench. As he neared, the boy stiffened and sat up straight. He thinks he’s been caught, Bruce thought. The boy was still too conditioned by his mother to know he could show emotions to his father without invoking the man’s wrath. Never mind that Bruce had _never_ hit Damian, and never would, he still did not have his son’s trust. Talia.

Damian did not turn to face his father, and Dick shot Bruce a glare over the child’s head that said ‘hurt him and I’ll cut you.’ Bruce attempted a reassuring smile, but it barely registered as a twitch on his lips. 

Bruce gave Damian a quick pat on the shoulder and said, “Hey, kiddo.”

“Father.” Damian grunted in acknowledgement, without shifting his gaze away from whatever it was he was staring at off in the distance. Likely Maxwell, where the child was laying on the ground where Titus had pinned him in order to properly lick his face. 

Dick caught Bruce’s attention and mouthed ‘praise him.’ Praise him? Say something nice. Okay, Bruce could do that. Damian had done exactly what Bruce asked by being nice to Maxwell. He could thank the child for it. 

“I’m-” Bruce began. I’m proud of you. Proud. No matter how hard he tried, Bruce could not spit the words out. They were awkward. Embarrassing. 

Damian turned his attention to Bruce and lifted his eyebrow quizzically. Dick’s glare intensified, conveying the command ‘say it now.’

“I’m proud of you, Damian,” he finally muttered before shifting his gaze away from his son. 

The child scowled and stood up. He glared at Bruce for a moment before storming off into the house. Now what had Bruce done? He knew he shouldn’t have said those words.

Dick sighed heavily and Bruce shifted his attention. “What did I do, now?”

“He doesn’t believe you, Bruce,” Dick said flatly. In the distance, Maxwell waved to Bruce and began walking toward the Manor, Titus right by his side. Bruce was suddenly concerned Damian would think Max was stealing the dog, too. Maybe he should get Max his own dog, so they didn’t have to share.

“Why wouldn’t he?” Bruce asked, although he didn’t have to. Jason had already told him exactly why Damian wouldn’t believe such a statement. He thought Bruce hated him. 

Instead of answering, Dick simply said, “You don’t deserve him.” 

Max stopped a couple yards from the bench and gushed, “Your dog is really awesome, Mr. Wayne.”

Bruce smiled and gave Titus a scratch on the neck when the dog greeted him. “I’m glad you like him, Max. You can call me ‘Bruce,’ by the way. ‘Mr. Wayne’ is too formal for a foster dad.” 

The child nodded. “Okay.” He glanced over at Dick before nervously toying with the hem of his jacket sleeve. 

“Have you met Dick?” Bruce asked, motioning toward his eldest son. 

Max twitched and his face contorted in a strange fashion, as if he were trying to figure out what it was Bruce had just said. 

“Hi,” Dick grinned, “I’m Richard Grayson, but I go by Dick. What’s your name?”

Maxwell frowned. “Why would you go by _that._ ” 

Dick shrugged, “English wasn’t my first language as a kid. Besides, 50 years ago it was a perfectly acceptable nickname for Richard. I don’t see why it can’t still be.”

Still frowning, Maxwell said “I’m Maxwell George, but I go by Max. Which is a way better nickname than yours.”

Dick laughed. “I see why Bruce likes you, kid. Welcome to the family.” 

“Alfred has dinner ready,” Bruce suddenly remembered, “we should probably go inside before he sends someone after us.”

As they walked, Bruce pointed out a bathroom near the dinning room and told Max to wash the dog off him, then to meet them in the dinning room. If the child were nervous about meeting all of Bruce’s sons, he didn’t show it. 

Well, that is until Max walked into the dinning room to find five pairs of eyes staring at him. Bruce could see his ‘little lunch companion’s’ hands shaking as he walked to the empty place setting to Bruce’s right and took a seat. Tim had sat a seat over than he usually did. Bruce was grateful his teenager was thinking that it would be comforting to the new kid to sit next to the only person at the table he knew, but at the same time was sad his son wasn’t sitting at his right hand. He missed Tim.

“Max,” Bruce said gently, “these are my sons. You’ve met Damian and Dick,” Bruce gestured to both boys, who were to his left, “This is Tim and Jason.” Bruce pointed at each boy as he said their name. Jason was sitting on the other side of Tim, making him seem a bit excluded from the family, with no one sitting across from him. Jason probably did that on purpose, Bruce thought. 

“Hi, Max. Nice to meet you.” Tim smiled and offered his hand to the child, who awkwardly shook it.

“I’m not his son,” Jason quipped, “but hi anyway.”

Bruce suppressed a groan. Now was not the time to argue over whether Jason was his son. Of course he was. Bruce had the papers to prove it, but no matter how often Bruce pointed that out, Jason always countered with ‘Jason Todd is dead.’

In the silence that followed, Alfred served dinner: Roasted lamb with potatoes, leaks, carrots, and greens. Each dish was one of his son’s favorites. Jason loved the lamb, Dick the potatoes, Tim the carrots, and Damian the greens. Alfred was simply the best. 

“So, Max,” Tim offered after everyone had filled their plates, breaking into the tension Jason’s comment had created, “where are you from?”

“Central City,” the boy answered. 

“You never told me that,” Bruce said in confusion. He found absolutely no hint that Max was from anywhere but Gotham. When Tim asked that question, he was expecting to hear ‘the narrows,’ or ‘crime alley,’ not another city altogether! Did social services know he wasn’t from Gotham? Bruce wondered if this information would help him dig up a bit more about the child. 

“Well, you never asked,” Max said bluntly while taking a bite of his carrots. 

Tim smiled. “That explains liking the Flash. Gothamites aren’t big on metas.”

“Batman doesn’t like metas. Don’t project his prejudice on the entire city,” Jason spat. 

“Batman is not prejudice, Todd,” Damian spat, “he’s in the Justice League, isn’t he? He works alongside metas all the time.”

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. They were going to get into an argument over Batman. Right now. In front of Max. He really hoped Damian didn’t slip up and say something about ‘his father’ while arguing. 

“You can be friends with someone and still be a bastard about what they are,” Jason countered.

“Guys, I don’t think this is a conversation to have at dinner,” Dick offered. 

“Shove it, Dickhead.” 

“Watch your tongue, Todd,” Damian hissed. 

Bruce watched as Max tensed up and began toying with the food on his plate. Poor kid. His first dinner at the Manor and he got to witness a famous Wayne boys fight. 

“Or what, demon brat? You’ll kill me?”

“So, Max,” Tim said loudly, reminding everyone of the nervous seven-year-old sitting at the table, “what brought you to Gotham?”

Max looked up briefly then returned to playing with his food. “My dad,” he murmured, “we moved here in April.” 

“Who moves to Gotham?” Jason laughed, “it’s so overrun with crime, why would anyone-” his words died as he seemed to remember who he was talking to. 

Max gave him an incredulous look before deadpanning, “Yeah, well, my dad is a criminal, so.” The boy frowned and took a bite of his potatoes. 

“Mine was too, kid, don’t worry about it. Did you ever see the Flash? In Central City?”

“No. Have you ever seen Batman?” Max countered. The scowl on his face screaming the thought ‘just because I’m from central doesn’t mean I’ve seen the Flash.’

Jason grinned. “Yes. I have.” 

Great. Now they were back on the batman topic. 

“Hey Maxy, who’s your favorite bat?” Dick asked with a smirk. 

“Red Hood,” the child said without thought. Dick already knew that. So did Jason, and Bruce. Based on Tim and Damian’s faces, however, neither of them had been told about the kid who liked the Red Hood the best. 

“What?!” Damian shrieked. Tim and Dick started laughing while Jason turned red. 

“What?” Max asked in confusion. He looked up at Bruce for help, who just smiled down at him. 

Bruce remembered back to their conversation earlier that day. “Red Hood is the one who was a villain but is now Batman’s friend, right?” 

“Red Hood and Batman are not _friends._ ” Jason hissed, still red as a beet. 

“Sure they are!” Max smiled. Finally, his more relaxed self seeping through the walls he had put up around himself. “I met Red Hood once. And Nightwing and Batman. They saved me, and they were all working together, and talking like they knew each other really well. They’re definitely friends.” 

“Allies, maybe,” Jason said, “but _not_ friends.” 

“Jay’s right,” Dick agreed, “they’re not friends. They’re more like a family. I think Red Hood is brothers with the birds and Batman’s like their dad or something.” 

Tim snorted and grabbed his glass of water to hide his laughter. Jason’s face turned red again, while Damian shouted, “Only Robin is Batman’s son!”

“Mr. Way- I mean Bruce, your sons know a lot more about Batman than you do,” Max teased. 

“What do you mean?” Tim interrupted, “Bruce _funds_ Batman. He knows the guy personally.” 

Bruce sighed. Of course, it was public knowledge that Bruce Wayne funded Batman. There was really nothing wrong with telling Maxwell that, but it had just been too fun to press the kid’s buttons by pretending not to know much about the vigilante team. “It’s true. I was teasing you when I said I didn’t know who Nightwing was.” 

Max scoffed, “it’s not nice to lie.” 

Bruce laughed and reached out to ruffle the kid’s hair, but the movement caused Max to flinch just slightly. Almost immediately, he scowled at Bruce, as if angry the man had dared elicit the response from him. Feisty little kid. This was what Bruce meant when he thought the kid waffled between flight, fight, and freeze too much. Sometimes his fear caused him to shut down, like earlier when he touched his bangs, sometimes it caused him to become defensive, like the first time they ate lunch together, and other times he was put on the offense. Like right now, when he looked like he was ready to jump anyone who came near him. Strange kid. The glare he was receiving reminded him of Damian, though. 

Sure enough, when he looked over at Damian, he saw the same expression on the child’s face. Was he jealous Bruce had just showed affection to Max? Bruce made note of that tidbit of information. He thought Damian hated affection. Maybe that wasn’t as true as the child led him to believe. 

Thankfully, the topic shifted from there to Max’s hobbies. When he mentioned he enjoyed reading, him and Jason spoke for half an hour about books they both enjoyed while everyone else occasionally offered their opinion. Bruce was impressed by the level of books Maxwell had been reading. For a child who never attended school he could apparently read at a very high level. He had been reading through Charles Dickens most recently, and was about to move on to George Orwell, which caused Jason to light up. That was one of the authors he was working through. 

After dessert, Jason offered to show Max to the library, but the child declined saying he’d rather go to bed. After wishing everyone good night, Max showed himself to his room. Bruce was impressed the kid seemed to remember the route just fine, because he refused to let someone show him to the room, arguing that Alfred had done so already and he was not a baby who needed help. 

Before Jason could run off, Bruce said, “You can always show him the library tomorrow.”

“I’m not staying.”

“You can if you want, but you can also come back in the morning. You’re always welcome here. I’m sure Max would love to read with you.”

Jason narrowed his eyes at Bruce before turning to Tim. “Ready to go, replacement? Or you staying here?”

“I’m ready. Thanks for dinner, Bruce. Max is a cute kid. Don’t let the demon kill him.”

“I’m not a demon!” Damian shouted, “and I would never kill a child, Drake.” 

Tim rolled his eyes and stood. “See ya later, B.” 

Bruce nodded to his sons and watched them leave. There were still a couple hours left until patrol time. Bruce could probably spend that time working on a case, or catching up on paperwork. Maybe he could-

“Let’s watch a movie,” Dick said, interrupting Bruce’s planning. A movie? Bruce frowned. That would be the biggest waste of time. The glare Dick was giving him, however, told him that he was watching a movie. Tonight. With Damian and Dick. And doing nothing else. 

“Okay,” he acquiesced. He had already had enough lectures from Dick that day, he did not want another. “You two go pick one. I’ll pop some popcorn.” 

The way Damian’s face flashed from an angry scowl to a slight, hopeful smile before being hidden again by his usual annoyed expression made the entire endeavor worth it to Bruce. Maybe Dick was onto something. If watching a ridiculous children's movie, and knowing Dick, it would be a children’s movie, made Damian happy, then Bruce would watch it. 

While they watched Shrek, Damian sat between Bruce and Dick on the couch. Between the comments and jokes the three were making about the film, Bruce noticed Damian sneaking glances at him every so often, watching his father’s reaction to the movie. He also noticed Damian smile a few times. 

When Damian laughed at the dragon scene, where the donkey was basically shouting ‘rape’ when the dragon flirted with him, Bruce smiled. Damian never laughed at jokes. He laughed at twisted things, usually while out as Robin. Or sarcastically, when pestering his brothers. But right now, he was laughing at a silly joke in a children’s movie, just like a twelve-year-old should. That was twice. Twice in one day he saw Damian loosen up and behave like the child he was. Maybe there was hope for the kid, after all. Without thinking, Bruce reached out and ruffled Damian’s hair and then left his hand there for a moment. 

Instead of swatting his hand away like Bruce expected, Damian stiffened slightly and turned to look at him. The boy’s stunning green eyes glistened, causing Bruce to drop his arm around his shoulders and pull him in for a hug. That was another twice thing. Twice he hugged his son that day. It felt good. Bruce held Damian while they finished watching the movie, and when the credits began to roll, he noticed the boy had fallen asleep in his arm. Instead of waking him, Bruce settled down and closed his own eyes. He could use the night off. Nightwing, Red Robin, and Red Hood could handle Gotham. Batman was going to stay right there, with his son, and rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing Dick is so difficult for me. I found these Myers Briggs personality type cards online for each of the bat family and learned that Bruce is an INTJ, just like me, which is probably why I find it easier to slip into his mind. Dick, however, is an ESFP. The exact opposite! It's actually really interesting to read about each of the character's personalities. Just google "Bat family MBTI" if you're interested. Tim and Bruce have very similar types, but no one in the family has the same personality as another member. Fascinating! As I learn more about Max I should figure out his type. That could be neat to know. Right now I think he's an ESFJ, making his personality really close to Jason, who is an ENFJ. Pretty cool!
> 
> Thanks for reading! In the next chapter... I don't know what happens. I haven't written it yet. Damian's gonna learn he's being enrolled at Gotham Academy soon. I might do that. I do have three good chapters completed, but like four things have to happen before they can be published. Why can't stories come to me in order? haha
> 
> Side note: I didn't copy edit this chapter yet, so I apologize if there's something just horrible going on grammar-wise. I have found a handful of typos in my other chapters as well, so I'll be fixing those soon.


	10. More Than One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce is suddenly hit with the realization he has more than one kid. How on earth did he not notice?

Bruce was stiff when Damian woke him. He was stiff and his arm was numb. He was stiff, his arm was numb, and there was a crick in his neck. Sleeping while sitting on the couch was not a good idea for a man approaching 40, he thought. The clock said 2am, but it didn’t feel like that much time had passed since they dozed off. Even though it was uncomfortable, he could have sat like that forever. Nothing was more relaxing than having his son so near.

Damian got up off the couch and stretched before looking over at Bruce. “Sorry, Father,” he said. Bruce could not quite identify the expression on his son’s face. It wasn’t anger, the only emotion he was used to seeing. Was it embarrassment?

“Why?” he asked. He actually wasn’t sure what the child had to be sorry for.

“For falling asleep and missing patrol.” Damian and his sense of duty, Bruce thought bitterly. He failed as Robin by missing patrol. And what’s worse, he missed patrol because he fell asleep: a weakness, and something the boy swore up and down he did not need.

“If you didn’t notice, Damian, I fell asleep, too.” His son frowned, and Bruce realized he said the wrong thing. He should probably have said something to attack the inner thoughts he knew the kid had, said something about how it was okay to take the night off, and Bruce enjoyed their time together. Something like that. What would Dick have said? Instead of any of that, Bruce continued, “It’s late. We should go on to bed, we have a lot to do tomorrow.

Damian nodded. “Yes, Father.” His voice was devoid of all emotion. Damian had thrown his walls back up and was hiding himself behind them. Just when Bruce thought he was gaining ground with the boy, he managed to screw it up again.

“Good night,” Bruce said as he left the room. Maybe a few more hours of sleep could help him know what to do next.

The next time Bruce awoke, the sun was shining through his window and he was feeling much more rested. It was half past 7 and the sound of birds outside pulled Bruce completely from his sleep. For once he was in a good mood in the morning. It probably had to do with actually getting enough sleep. By his calculations, he had gotten nearly nine hours. Nine!

After a quick shower and shave, Bruce made his way down to the kitchen for breakfast. He was expecting to pour himself a bowl of cereal, or perhaps fry up an egg, but instead he found Alfred preparing french toast. Strange. He rarely cooked elaborate breakfasts on Sunday, since it was usually a day everyone wandered out of their rooms at different times.

Oh right. Maxwell.

Bruce smiled at his sudden memory of the tike. How could he have forgotten the boy lived with him now? Okay, it’s not that he forgot, he just didn’t think about it. It was still morning! Good mood or not, he could be forgiven for the lapse. He greeted Alfred while he fished out a mug from the cabinet.

Damian walked into the kitchen next, still in his pajamas with his hair a mess. He looked cute. No, he looked _adorable_ , but Bruce would never say such a thing. Ever. Damian would likely stab him for such a comment. He had never seen Damian look so disheveled. Usually the boy was well groomed and ready for the day before Bruce even thought about getting out of bed.

“Morning, Damian,” Bruce greeted as he poured himself some coffee.

His son blinked and rubbed at his face. “Good morning, Father,” he finally said before climbing onto a stool at the island and resting his head on his hand. The kid was so out of it, like he was still asleep. Damian never fully slept, never went down into the deeper stages of sleep, meaning he never really had to wake up in the morning. Bruce wondered if he had actually slept that night. It kind of looked like he had.

Maxwell chose that moment to storm into the kitchen, his anger plastered on his face. “You said no one would come into my room,” the child shouted at Bruce. What the fuck, Bruce thought.

Bruce took a long sip of his coffee before answering, “Yes, I did.” He honestly had no idea what the kid was talking about. He didn’t go into the boy’s room. Didn’t even check on him last night. Although that had more to do with the whole forgetting he was there thing than remembering the promise he had made to the boy.

“Then why did Richard?” Max pointed toward the doorway, where Dick was now standing. The young man looked just as confused as Bruce.

“Sorry, B, I didn’t know he’d freak out. I was just waking him up for breakfast like Alfred asked,” his eldest explained. Not that it really explained much, like why it caused Max to freak out at all.

Oh, that’s why Damian looked like he just woke up. He had. Dick had roused him for breakfast.

“I don’t need to be woken up!” Max screamed at Dick, “I can do that myself!”

Bruce felt that familiar tinge of pain start up right behind his eye. Kids were so loud. He hadn’t had to listen to children fighting every morning since Tim stopped crashing there. It never really occurred to him that Max would start fights. It probably should have.

“Master Maxwell,” Alfred said calm but sternly, “such behavior is unacceptable. Master Dick was merely doing as I asked. If you do not wished to be roused by me or anyone in the morning, then perhaps Master Bruce can purchase you an alarm clock today.” Alfred raised an eyebrow at Bruce. It might have sounded like a suggestion, but Bruce knew it was an order.

Max took a moment to calm himself down before finally replying, “Sorry, Alfred. Okay.”

“Very well, then. Breakfast is done, if the masters wish to eat they should move to the dinning room like civilized people.”

Half way through breakfast, Bruce decided to broach the subject of school. “Tomorrow,” he began slowly, to give everyone a chance to look up at him, “we will go down to Gotham Academy and enroll you two in school.”

“I can’t keep going to North Gotham?” Max asked.

At the same time Damian scowled and said “us two?”

“No, Max, we are outside it’s zone, and it would be far too long a drive. Gotham Academy is an excellent school, you’ll like it.” Bruce turned to face his son. “Yes, Damian, both of you.”

“You want me to go to Private School?” Damian demanded. He looked over at Dick, who was looking down at his plate. Coward didn’t want Damian to know he agreed with the school thing, Bruce realized.

Bruce hummed in agreement while he finished the last of his french toast.

Damian gaped at Bruce for a long moment before asking, “Why can I not continue with my home education?”

“School is about more than an education, Damian. Socializing is a very important aspect.”

“That is nonsense, Father, and you know it. Socialization can occur anywhere, and it is not necessary to attend school to get it.”

“And do you socialize, Damian?”

“Of course. I speak to Richard. I am also forced to endure Drake and Todd regularly, and their delinquent friends. There is now George, as well.”

Max scowled at Damian at the mention of his name, but kept silent otherwise.

“Your brothers do not count, Damian. I mean with people outside this family.”

“They are _not_ my brothers.” Damian hissed.

Bruce sighed and picked up his mug. That headache was returning and the mug was empty. “This is not up for debate,” he said while reaching for the pot in the middle of the table, “You will be attending the seventh grade at Gotham Academy, and that is final.” He poured more coffee into his mug and took a sip.

“The lower school? Father! My education is far beyond the imbeciles in the lower school.”

“You are twelve, Damian,” Bruce snapped, “twelve-year-old children are in the seventh grade.”

“I am not a child, father. My age is irrelevant. My education level is at the PhD level in several subjects, the seventh grade would be a waste of my time.”

Bruce slammed his hand down on the table. “Damian. That is enough.” The challenging scowl remained cemented on Damian’s face. Bruce counted to ten in his head while taking a deep breath. He knew Damian would not take the news well, he should have been better prepared to keep his temper in check. In a calm voice, he continued, “the children at Gotham Academy are the children of my business rivals, Damian. They will be the ones to take over their parents’ companies one day. Think of this as networking for your future.”

Damian relaxed back into his chair and seemed to contemplate what Bruce had just said. “You have no rivals, Father. Only inferiors.”

Bruce smiled. Sometimes it was cute how highly Damian thought of him. Sometimes. “Give school a try.”

The child nodded and continued eating his breakfast. “Very well.”

The man looked to his eldest son for feedback on how he had just handled that. Dick flashed him a smile and Bruce let go of the breath he wasn’t aware he was holding. That didn’t go so bad, he thought. Yes, they had elevated the argument up to shouting, but they brought it back down again and finished it without either of them punching a wall or storming out of the room.

Max didn’t seem too uncomfortable, either. He was quiet, yes, but he wasn’t shaking. He didn’t really appear scared, either. He was silently eating his scrambled eggs while minding his own business. He was even swinging one of his legs back and forth. Maybe his jumpiness yesterday had just been his nerves.

The rest of breakfast went the same way the rest of the morning did: silently. Bruce sent the boys to get ready for the day and told everyone they would be leaving to go shopping at 10. Alfred was not going to accompany them, claiming that he had a lot of work to do at home and this was an excellent chance for Bruce to bond with the boys. Everyone seemed so interested in him spending time with his kids, recently, Bruce mused.

It took seven stores and three hours to buy Max all the clothing he would need for the rest of Fall and the coming Winter. After they had successfully completed the list Alfred had given Bruce, with the addition of an alarm clock, they went to a tailor to have Max fitted for a few suits and both the boys fitted for their uniforms.

Max did not like the tailor. He refused to allow the man to measure him and ranted that he was a size 5 and that should be enough for a stupid pair of pants. No matter how much Bruce tried to reason with the child, Max would not budge. It wasn’t until Damian went did Max finally allow it.  It took an hour longer than it should have, and by the end, everyone was frazzled.  

After such a stressful experience, Dick suggested they go to the toy store. Bruce had kind of forgotten children needed toys. Damian never wanted for toys, and was growing too old now. Both Jason and Tim had been too old already when they came along. Dick had toys, of course, but that had been years ago and Bruce had forgotten the hundreds of toys that once littered the Manor. The idea of stepping on a stray toy car again brought a smile to his face.

Like Damian, Max, apparently, had never had toys before. His foster home had toys, he explained, but he never really played with them. Dick seemed to take that as a a personal insult, the very idea that a child would never have toys, and led Max and Damian straight to the action figure aisle. Despite his insistence that he did not need toys, Max immediately gravitated to the super hero display.

“If you see something you like, Max, put it in the cart,” Bruce said.

Max just shook his head and kept admiring the various Justice League members. Bruce rolled his eyes and reached forward to grab one of each of the figures and place them in the cart. When he set the superman toy in the cart, he couldn’t help but cringe. He was going to get so much shit from Clark over this.

“I don’t need them, Bruce. I was just looking," Max explained.  As if Bruce were going to put those toys back.  

“If you want them, Max, I want to buy them for you.”

The child shook his head.  “They cost too much, I don’t need them.”

Bruce held back laughter. $25 for a toy was like dropping a penny in a fountain. Bruce was a billionaire, for heaven sake. “Max, buddy, I think I can afford it. If you see a toy you want, put it in the cart.”

Max nodded and added a Batman and Robin set to the cart. Bruce pulled the newly added box to examine. The uniforms were all wrong. Robin’s uniform was a cross between Damian and Dick’s, with a hood instead of a cape, but green tights instead of the black pants Damian wore. Batman’s uniform was more accurate, probably because there were plenty of pictures of the Justice League and unfortunately most of them had Batman present. Damn press conferences. Robin, however, never appeared in public. Bruce kept him sheltered from all that.

“I wish they had Red Hood and Red Robin and Nightwing,” Max pouted as he watched Bruce set the toy back in the basket. Bruce could probably make that happen. He could get Damian to draw the three and send it off to some toy manufacturer to create toy versions of the vigilantes. It wouldn’t even be that strange of a request, now that he had a seven-year-old fan living with him.

Dick told the boys to go look at the other aisles for more toys while he and Bruce looked at board games. The Manor _had_ board games. Plenty of them. He never got rid of some of the more juvenile games, like Chutes and Ladders or Candy Land, with the hope that one day he would have grandchildren visit he could play the games with. Hell, a lot of Dick’s toys were still at the Manor for the same reason, they were just packed up and in the attic.

Bruce looked at the massive aisle filled with hundreds of games. “Dick, we have board games.”

“Yep, “Dick said, “We have a lot of awesome games that work best with two people. One adult and one child. You don’t have anything that’s good for a whole group of people of a variety of ages.”

Bruce sighed as Dick inspected the shelf. He grabbed a box that said ‘Apples to Apples’ and went to put it in the cart, but Bruce caught it before it went all the way into the basket. “What on earth is this?”

“It’s fun. You basically have a bunch of words in your hand and have to pick which word you think is best described by the card in the middle. It’s hard to explain. It’s funny, everyone will have fun, not just the kid thinking he won Candy Land for the fifth time in a row.”

With another sigh, Bruce dropped it in the cart and watched Dick pick out five more games. “You know, Bruce,” he said, “you have more than one kid now.”

Bruce laughed. He had had more than one kid for years. He had _five_ kids now.

Dick glared at him and suddenly Bruce felt like a child being corrected by an adult. “I’m being serious. I don’t think you understand what I mean.”

“Then what do you mean? Because it’s been a while since I had just one kid.”

“You’ve never really had more than one kid at a time, B.” Dick paused to read the back of a game before dropping it in the basket. “I had already moved out when you took in Jason. Tim came around after, well... Then Tim never really hung around once Damian showed up. You’ve never had more than one kid at home at a time.”

Bruce had never thought about that. It was true. As much as he wished Tim had been living with him, he hadn’t. The boy had gone off with the Teen Titans after Damian became Robin. He had at least moved back to Gotham, but once he got his place set up he quit crashing at the Manor at all. Damian had pretty much driven him out of his own house. Bruce never did have more than one child at home. Now he had three kids under 18, and two of them still lived with him.

“In the past, your only kid was spending a lot of one-on-one with you while… out,” Dick paused, allowing his meaning to sink in. While the store was fairly deserted at the moment, they couldn’t risk anyone eavesdropping, “you never really spent time with them as yourself. That was okay for us orphans. Us who had dads before you, good or bad. We were just grateful for what you had done for us already.”

Bruce frowned. Dick was accusing him of never spending time with him as Bruce Wayne. What’s worse is he was saying it was fine, because he was an orphan and didn’t expect any more from a man who was not his father. Even if Bruce had never used that word for himself to describe his relationship with Dick, that was what he wished he was. Dick’s father. He had eventually adopted the boy, making them officially father and son, but that was more for legality. So Dick could inherit stuff from Bruce. Despite all that, however, Dick apparently still did not see Bruce as a father. He knew Jason and Tim didn’t see it that way, either.

Dick continued with his little speech, interrupting Bruce’s thought, “But Damian? You _are_ his father. He didn’t have a dad before you, because you’re it. You’re not doing him a favor by adopting him, by taking him in. He’s not thankful to you for simply giving him a place to sleep, because he thinks you’re only doing it because you have to. He feels like a burden to you, like you’re stuck with him, and you aren’t helping by acting like he’s just another one of your Robins.” Dick whispered the last word so quietly, Bruce had to read the word on his lips to know what he was saying.

Acting like he was just another Robin. How could any of them think they were ‘just another Robin.’ Bruce saw all of them as his sons, dammit. None of them were ‘just another’ anything. “What do you suggest?” Bruce asked. He knew that Dick knew exactly what to do. He had managed to take his angry little assassin son and turn him into a Robin with a moral compass in the matter of a year. If anyone could fix this, it was Dick.

Dick sighed and rested his hands on the side of the cart. “Do what you did last night. Spend time with him. Just him. Just you. Doing whatever he wants, without complaining or arguing or acting like he’s keeping you from something important.”

“I can do that. “ He could. That was easy. Last night was nice.

“Do it regularly, Bruce. Put it on your schedule. I suggest setting aside a few hours every week for just Damian. And while you’re at it, do the same for Tim and Max. You’ve got three kids under 18 now. Damian might be your only biological son, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be a dad to Tim and Max as well.”

A few hours every week for each kid? Three hours per kid times three kids, that’s nine hours a week. That’s a lot of time he didn’t have. “Dick I’m busy, I don’t have time for-”

“You don’t have time for your kids? Seriously, B. Listen to yourself.“

“Dick, I-” he faltered. It did sound incredibly insensitive of him. “I really am busy.” Bruce frowned and thought about his priorities. What was more important than his kids? He thought of every responsibility he had. Everything he was expected to do by Gotham, his company, the Justice League, his friends, the media, Alfred. Nothing he could think of held a candle to the importance of his children. Dick was right. He could make time.

“You aren’t too busy for them. You’ve had time to spend an hour a day with Max for months. Months, Bruce. How do you think that made Damian feel? You didn’t spend that much time with him. Most ‘quality’ time you spend with him outside _work_ is lecturing him.”

Sometimes it seemed like Dick enjoyed making Bruce feel like a pile of shit. “They won’t go for it. Max would, yeah, but Damian and Tim will turn me down flat.”

Dick gave Bruce a soft smile. “So insist. Tell them its for you, not them.”

“It’ll just annoy them.”

“No. It won’t. They’ll eat it up. Even Tim. They’ll act like they’re too cool for it, but they’ll secretly be looking forward to it all week.” If Bruce were honest with himself, he’d secretly look forward to it all week, too.

“Dick, I-” Why was he even arguing with this? Bruce liked the idea. He would enjoy spending the time with his boys.

“Do you love them or not?” Dick asked, anger suddenly back in his voice.

“I-” Bruce paused. Of course he loved them. Bruce didn’t understand how any of his boys could possibly think he didn’t love them. Some of the crap they pulled on him, the way they behaved, did they honestly think Bruce would put up with them if he didn’t love them?

Before Bruce could finish his thought, Dick said “Fine. Don’t answer that. Just do this, B.”

“Okay,” Bruce said, nodding his head, “I will.”

Dick smiled, then turned his attention to something in the distance behind Bruce. When the man turned around, he saw Damian and Max coming toward them with an armful of toys each.

“Dami and I found some cool lego things for us to build. Is that okay?” Max asked as he dropped five boxes of lego sets in the cart.

Dami? Bruce smiled. Damian usually attempted to murder anyone who dared call him a cute nickname, other than Dick of course. Aside from a twitch on his face, Damian did not react to the name. The older boy dropped his own arm of lego sets to the basket before clicking his tongue.

“They are for George,” Damian said, “I was merely assisting him carry the boxes, as he was too small to do it alone.”

Dick smiled and ruffled Damian’s hair, only to have his hand swatted away while the boy growled at him. “Of course, Little D. And yes, Maxy, it is okay. Were there others you wanted, or is this all of it?”

“That’s it,” Max said with a smile.

Bruce led the boys toward the check out, only to be distracted by a stuffed animal aisle. Dick found a stuffed dog that looked exactly like Titus and showed it to Damian, who tried his best to hide the fact that he really wanted the toy. Dick tossed it in the cart and Damian complained that he was not a child. All the while, Maxwell was petting a stuffed bear that was wearing a red mask and cape. Before the boy could protest that he, too, was not a baby who needed a stuffed animal, Dick grabbed the bear and threw it in the cart, as well.

Finally, with a full cart, the group made it to the check out counter where a wide eyed cashier began scanning the toys. Bruce wasn’t sure where they were going to fit the toys in his Audi, and asked if the store could deliver them to his house. For a charge of $50, apparently, they could. After charging the $700 bill to his card, they were finally done with shopping for the day. They had even managed to do it all without seeing the paparazzi once.

It was nearing dinner time and everyone was exhausted. Max actually fell asleep in the back seat on the way home. Bruce kept sneaking peeks at his two youngest in the rear view mirror as he drove them in silence. He was going to do right by those boys. They were not going to grow up thinking they didn’t have a father. He, Bruce Wayne, was going to be there for them, even if they didn’t want him there. He’d be right there. He had more than one kid now, and he had to make sure they all knew he loved them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, that was a long chapter. I aim for 3,000 words, and this one was 4,100! 
> 
> Thanks for reading! I am forever grateful for the support you guys have been giving me. <3
> 
> If you haven't noticed, I have a defined number of chapters now for this. Instead of writing yesterday, I sat down and did a detailed outline to ensure I got the rest of the plot hammered out and split it all up into chapters. So now I know the exact number of chapters: 25. I also have one little one-shot that's in this universe I'll publish after this main story is done, then ideas for several more that I may or may not do eventually. The one I've already written is from Jason's POV and doesn't involve Bruce, which is why I can't just throw it into it's place in this story. It would disrupt the flow too much.


	11. A New Routine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce establishes a new routine with the boys. Will they be as excited about it as he is?

Enrolling the boys in school was a bit more difficult than Bruce was anticipating. Despite it being two months into the school year, the headmistress, Ms. Kowski, seemed perfectly willing to allow the sons of Bruce Wayne to apply for enrollment. The key word, however, was _apply_.

Apparently Damian and Maxwell had to pass placements tests before they would be allowed to attend. Bruce was not concerned about Damian. The preteen was, just as he had argued, at a post-graduate level in several of his subjects, and beyond high school in the rest. So, it came as no shock when the kid scored ’12th grade level’ on all his tests, since that was the highest the exams could rate. What was surprising, however, was the headmistress telling Bruce the school had nothing to offer Damian. She suggested he get the boy a GED and enroll him at Gotham University instead. 

It took fifteen minutes of arguing about how Damian was not emotionally prepared for college for her to finally acquiesce and allow enrollment. Something about the term ‘socially stunted’ got it through her head that Bruce was aware Damian did not need school education-wise, and was not expecting Gotham Academy to teach him anything new. Considering Damian would likely be top of his class, rather than a drag on their test scores, and bring the school an additional $45,000 in tuition, Bruce wasn’t sure why the headmistress argued against him attending so adamantly. 

But he did know, if he were honest with himself. Damian’s attitude wasn’t a secret. He was constantly labeled as a spoiled child, arrogant, rude, and sometimes even violent by the tabloids. There was also that one time he may have threatened to kill a member of the paparazzi, not that Bruce would ever admit that was indeed what the child said. To suggest his then 10-year-old would ever threaten a random stranger was libel! Damian wouldn’t be the first difficult child Bruce had enrolled at Gotham Academy, either. Actually, now that Bruce thought about it, he wasn’t sure why the school even let him through the door with two new children. 

Maxwell was a completely different story. Since he was turning eight during the school year, the child should have been in the second grade, but considering he had never received any form of education prior to his placement in foster care, Maxwell failed his placement tests. It wasn’t that he failed, per say, he just did not place at at least a first grade level in all the subjects. His reading was at a 10th grade level, something that amazed everyone. His math skills, on the other hand, were that of a preschooler. More shockingly, he didn’t even know all his shapes.

He could count, thankfully, but had no idea what addition or subtraction were. Not in those terms, at least. The proctor was sure he understood the concept of addition and subtraction, but had never formally learned mathematics. When asked what two plus three equaled, he just stared blankly, but when the question was phrased “if I have two grapes in one hand, and three in the other, how many grapes are in both hands?” he answered immediately “five.” 

The strangest thing, however, was how Max didn’t seem to know the alphabet. He knew what letters were, and could even write all 26 letters down on paper, but had no idea how to say them. He could explain what sound the letters made, but only by saying a word that started with the letter. Furthermore, he had no idea letters had any special order. 

It was all so… weird. Max had excellent syntax and conjugated verbs almost perfectly, a skill mostly attributed to his love for reading, but how on earth had the child even learned to read without knowing his alphabet? And who the heck taught him? These were questions the school administration were curious about, as well. 

The headmistress sat with Bruce in her office, discussing the results of the boys’ examinations. Said boys had been led off by another administrator so the conversation could be had in private. “Normally,” Ms. Kowski explained, “we would outright deny admission to a child so far behind, but Maxwell is one of the brightest students I have seen. His IQ is at least in the 150s, according to our tests, but since he is so educationally challenged, our exam is not very accurate. We will have to wait for him to catch up to grade level to receive a more accurate score.”

“That’s good though, right?” Bruce asked, playing up his airhead billionaire facade. Of course he knew that 150 was good. That was higher than Tim’s, and Tim was one of the brightest kids Bruce had ever met. However, he was having a hard time believing Max’s was so high.

“Mr. Wayne,” she gushed, “It is incredible. Maxwell is a brilliant child, and I for one am excited to have him at our school.” 

Bruce smiled and sat up at the compliment, “Ah, so you will be admitting him? Even without knowing his alphabet?”

“Of course. I have a feeling he’ll be caught up to grade level by the winter holidays, anyway.”

Bruce laughed. She thought it would take just over a month to catch Max up. Perhaps she was right, but Bruce hadn’t seen any sign the boy was so intelligent thus far. He thought back to all the conversations he had had with Max and nothing stood out as remarkable brilliance-wise. Sure, maybe he picked up on things pretty quickly, but all his kids had been able to make connections quickly. Then again, the kid could read without knowing his alphabet… _Did_ he teach himself? Was that possible? Bruce gave voice to his thoughts, “I’m curious how he can read without knowing the ABCs.” 

Ms. Kowski huffed a short laugh and smiled. “I am, as well. Why don’t we ask him?” The woman summoned Maxwell to join them in the office.

The boy dragged his feet as he entered the room and stopped a few feet inside to stare at Bruce and Ms. Kowski. He looked exhausted. His face was scrunched up into a pained expression and his hands were busy rolling the hem of his shirt back and forth. Something was troubling him, but Bruce hadn’t the slightest idea what. 

“I failed, didn’t I?” Max said abruptly, refusing to meet the eyes of either adult in the room. He slowly shifted his weight back and forth between his legs while he continued to toy with his shirt. 

“No, Mr. George, not at all,” Ms. Kowski said soothingly, “These weren’t tests to pass or fail, they were simply designed to gauge what level you are at so we know where to start with your education. Come have a seat, we have some questions for you.” 

Max nodded and slowly made his way to the empty seat near Bruce. The little boy sat rigidly on the seat and looked up at the headmistress expectantly. 

Ms. Kowski smiled at Max and shuffled through her papers for a moment. “Mr. George, you-” 

“Max,” he corrected, firmly but not unkindly either. 

“As a pupil, it is only proper to refer to you as Mr. George.” 

Max huffed and sank into his chair, resting his head in his hand on the armrest. “I’m a child, it’s weird for you to call me that. My name is Max.” 

“Nonetheless,” she replied, her voice sharp, “it is the way you will be addressed here at Gotham Academy.”

Bruce frowned as he watched Max pout. His already sour mood was only worsening. Perhaps they could get ice cream after this meeting. That might cheer him up. 

“As I was saying, the tests revealed some gaps in your education we will need to rectify.” 

Max threw himself back into the chair in a dramatic display of annoyance, “You don’t have to sugar coat it. I get it, I’m stupid.” 

Bruce laughed. He immediately regretted the response, though, after seeing the horrified expression he received from the headmistress and the angry scowl Max shot him. “Max, buddy, you are the exact opposite of stupid.” He was, if his IQ test were accurate. Even if Bruce didn’t quite believe Max to be a genius, he knew the child wasn’t _stupid._

“I didn’t even know all the shapes,” he grumbled, shifting his gaze away from Bruce, “the paper said four year olds should know all the shapes. I’m seven.”

Ms. Kowski smiled, “you read the proctor instructions?”

Max raised an eyebrow at her, as if to say ‘of course I did why wouldn’t I?’ 

“Knowing something is not the same as intelligence, Maxwell," Bruce asserted, “not knowing something means you are uneducated, it does not mean you are stupid.” 

“I guess,” the child sighed. 

“Max, who taught you to read?” Bruce asked. He was still curious how the kid had learned without knowing his alphabet first. 

The child scrunched his face in confusion. “What do you mean?”

What did he mean ‘what do you mean,’ Bruce thought. The question was fairly straight forward, unless… unless he actually did teach himself? “I mean, how did you learn to read?”

Max shook his head and shrugged. 

“You don’t know? How old were you when you learned?”

“I dunno. I was little.” Maxwell sighed. “I don’t remember learning, I just suddenly realized I knew what the words meant.” 

“You just picked a book up one day and realized you could read?” Ms. Kowski asked in disbelief. 

“No,” he replied in frustration, “the words on the TV. My uncle always watched TV with the little words on the bottom and I always watched the words instead of the people. One day I just realized that I knew what the people were going to say before they said it, because the little words told me. Then I started recognizing the words on signs and stuff. Then one day I took a book off the shelf and realized that the entire book was just all those words and I could understand the entire story.” Max shrugged, as if what he had just explained was completely normal. 

His uncle. Maxwell had said his uncle always watched TV, meaning he had been living with his uncle while his father was in jail. Interesting. Bruce would have to do some research later to locate said uncle. The man probably lived in Central City, considering Maxwell claimed to be from there instead of Gotham. 

The headmistress looked at Maxwell with doubt. “You’re telling us that you learned to read from TV?”

“I guess?” Max offered, with another shrug. 

After several more questions, the two adults were able to ascertain that Max had been approximately three when he taught himself to read. It was not unheard of for children so young to be able to read, but it was rare they did so without a lot of help from parents. It seemed Max had absolutely no help from anyone. No one even taught him colors. Maybe Bruce had been wrong in his assessment of Maxwell’s intelligence, if he picked up so much entirely on his own.

The meeting finally concluded with the decision that Maxwell would be placed in the second grade and given a private tutor to help him pass his classwork by filling in the missing building blocks he needed to understand the daily assignments. 

The school decided to start the boys the following Monday, so Bruce took the boys with him to Wayne Enterprises. He had to meet with Lucius and Tim briefly, then would be free to get lunch. Hopefully, he would be able to convince Tim to join them for lunch. He wanted to propose the father/son night idea to the boys as soon as possible, and with all three of them together, it would be the perfect opportunity.

Tim did not turn down the lunch invitation, but he seemed a little reluctant to accept. Bruce tried not to let it bother him how much it seemed Tim did not want to spend time around him. It wasn’t him Tim was avoiding, anyhow. Tim disliked Damian, and Damian was going to be at lunch. That’s all it was. Tim was not avoiding Bruce, just Damian. 

The group walked a couple blocks to a pizza place, at Maxwell’s request. Bruce ordered a pizza and a couple sides for them all to share, then sat down to wait for their order. While they waited, they chatted about this or that, never really straying to important topics. 

Tim recalled his days at Gotham Academy for Damian and Max. He wasn’t particularly fond of the school, he explained, but had nothing against it either. He wasn’t really bullied, but he didn’t have friends there, either. Classes were boring and rarely challenged him, but he had been the top of his class. The teachers weren’t overly fond of him, but none gave him much issue, either. None of this was very encouraging to either boy. 

Damian, for the most part, kept silent during the conversation. Occasionally he spoke up to toss some scathing comment about ‘Drake,’ like when he commented that of course Drake had no friends, or when he insulted every other student at Gotham Academy for being so stupid that Tim could be the smartest one there. Even with Damian's bait, Tim did not bite and no fight broke out between the boys, to Bruce's relief.

Half way through lunch, Bruce worked up enough courage to propose Dick’s idea to the boys. He cleared his throat about a minute into a natural pause in conversation. “It has come to my attention that I do not spend enough time with you boys,” he began. 

Damian clicked his tongue with his signature “Tt.” and Tim rolled his eyes.

“Who told you that, Bruce?” The teen stabbed at his salad with his fork before taking a bite of lettuce. If Bruce didn’t know Tim as well as he did, he wouldn’t have picked up on the hidden bitterness the boy was concealing. On the outside, Tim seemed relaxed, his tone sounded playful. He looked content, almost happy. The slight shift in his body, however, the way he held his mouth in a stiff, forced smile, and the twitch in his eyes all told Bruce Tim was upset about this, but would never admit it aloud. Tim was hurting inside, and was keeping it a secret.

The sudden realization that Dick was right about Tim, just as he had been right about Damian, hit Bruce like a truck. He couldn’t breathe. How long had he just pushed aside his son like this? How did every little thing he do affect Tim? He rarely called the boy, rarely spoke to him outside work about anything but work, be it WE or Batman related. He knew the boy had struggled with depression in the past. Knew the boy tended to bottle up his emotions and shut himself off from the world. Yet Bruce ignored him, assumed he was fine, figured he could handle whatever it was he was doing. He always showed up for work, after all, obviously he was fine. Right? Apparently not. How could Bruce have just let him drift away?

With a sharp breath, Bruce answered, “No one, I- It’s what I think. I don’t spend enough time with you guys.” It wasn’t a lie, exactly. He really did think that, had thought that before Dick even berated him for being a shitty dad. Sure, Dick had kind of pointed it out and threw it in his face, but Bruce really did feel that way.

Tim nodded and answered “It’s fine Bruce, you’re busy, we get it.” He flashed Bruce a smile, but it was hardly convincing to Bruce. The man could see the loneliness hidden in his eyes.

Bruce looked over to Damian and Maxwell. The older boy was avoiding eye contact and eating a bread stick, while the younger was smiling brightly at Bruce while he devoured a slice of pizza, his little body bouncing as he fidgeted happily in his seat. The sight made Bruce smile, despite the heaviness he had just felt. The carefree nature of Max, the pure innocence of the boy was like a light in his world. 

“No, it’s not fine,” he said, returning his attention to Tim. “I want to spend time with you, Tim. And with you Damian, and Max. I want to know you kids, before it’s too late. I don’t want to wake up one day and realize all my boys are grown and gone and I don’t even know the first thing about them.”

Damian shifted and reassured Bruce, “Father, that would never happen. You already know plenty about us.” 

“That’s just it, Damian, I don’t, but I want to. That’s why I want to start spending a few hours after dinner with each of you each week.”

“Bruce, I’m really busy,” Tim said quickly.

“I am too, Tim, but I think we can both spare three hours a week for this, don’t you? How about every Tuesday?”

Tim sighed, “Bruce…”

“Please, Tim. Just give this a chance. It-” Bruce hesitated. Dick had told him he had to insist. Told him he had to beg the boy to do it for him. He knew this was coming, so why was it so hard to force the words out? “It’s important to me,” he said quietly, trying his best to hide the strain on his face and the slight flush on his cheeks. Conversations like this were difficult. Embarrassing. 

With a sigh, Tim relented. “Okay, sure. Tuesdays.” Bruce wondered if Tim was actually happy about this. His body language all said he was still uncomfortable. He was refusing to meet Bruce’s eyes, so the man could only guess at his inner thoughts. 

Bruce looked over at Damian, who was pushing the last bit of salad on his plate around. “What about you, Damian? Are you free Wednesday evenings?”

His son looked up at him. In the boy’s eyes he could see a hint of hope, but that little spark of light was being engulfed by insecurity and doubt. Was that fear, too? Why would Damian be… afraid? 

Damian blinked and his shield was back up, his eyes sharing only the blank wall Bruce was used to seeing. “What is the point of the time, Father?” he asked. 

“To spend time together. We could watch a movie, or play a game. Read. Chat. Really, anything you wanted. Just you and me, from the time dinner is over until…” his eyes shifted quickly over toward Maxwell and back to Damian, “bedtime.” What he really meant was until patrol, and of course Tim and Damian would understand the meaning, but since Max was not in the know, he couldn’t speak freely about their ‘nightly activities.’

Damian nodded blankly before saying, “that seems… agreeable.” 

Bruce couldn’t help but smile. Damian was such a quirky child. His word choices never ceased to amuse Bruce. “Good. And what about you, Max? Thursdays?”

Max looked up and smiled brightly. “Sure.” 

That was easy. But of course it was, Max was actually remarkably easy to please. Besides, as Dick had said, he had been spending quality time with the boy for months. He was already used to seeing this side of Bruce. A tinge of guilt stabbed in his chest as he thought about his other sons. He had had four sons and managed to spend more time with a random street kid than he did any of them… or even all of them combined. 

“Good,” he said, forcing a smile, “So then, let’s start this routine tomorrow. Tim? Come over for dinner?”

His middle son shrugged. “Sure, I guess.” 

Perfect. For the rest of the day, he thought about all the things he could do with the boys. He made a list in his head of all the options he thought each boy would enjoy. Tim would probably like playing strategy board games or video games with Bruce. Damian would likely want to work on his art while Bruce watched. They could also watch movies or read together. Max was actually the toughest to figure out. He had always just chatted with the boy, which of course they could do, but somehow that did not seem like enough anymore. Perhaps he could play catch with him. He’d have to pick up a couple mitts and a ball at the store. Maybe he could teach the kid chess or a card game, or they could always just watch a movie. He’d have to google ‘things to do with a kid’ later to find more suggestions. 

The longer he thought about the possibilities, the happier he got. This was a brilliant idea. Perhaps… perhaps it was a good first step to being a decent father to his sons. Maybe if he kept it up, he could eventually look at his boys without feeling the pain of guilt over his terrible parenting. And maybe, one day, they’ll look at him with happy eyes, just glad to be there. Glad to spend time with him. And maybe still, they’ll start seeing him as their dad, too, just as he already saw them as his sons.


	12. Building Blocks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Relationships have to be built. Before they can be beautiful they have to start from nothing. Some people are naturals at placing those blocks, sowing the seeds of trust and friendship, while others fight every step, afraid of what the end result will be. Maybe that fear is unjustified.

As promised, Tim showed up for dinner Tuesday night. It was nice having him over. Bruce could count on one hand the number of times Tim had been over since that last massive breakfast fight between him and Damian months before. Even with Damian, and now Maxwell, around, the Manor just seemed empty without the raven haired teen lurking about. 

Damian, of course, felt the need to assert his superiority all throughout dinner. He spent the hour making scathing comment after scathing comment, directing his harsh words at both Tim and Max. Neither boy, however, seemed too bothered by it. Bruce had been utterly amazed by Max’s thick skin. The child seemed almost _amused_ by Damian’s behavior, and Bruce could swear the boy was instigating it sometimes, with whatever quiet remarks he’d whisper to Damian with a devious smirk on his face. 

Bruce should probably put a stop to it, tell Max not to pester Damian and tell Damian to quit explaining to Max all the ways he could kill him, but so far they had never actually resorted to violence. Damian never jumped Max the way he attacked Tim, and Max seemed perfectly content with just watching Damian lash out verbally, like it was all some funny joke. 

This was, most likely, what was keeping Tim entertained during dinner. Bruce was not used to seeing Tim smile so much while being in the same room as Damian. Usually he rolled his eyes at his son and eventually started arguing back with the boy, but tonight he was keeping his eyes on Max, grinning whenever the child would smirk and disagree with whatever Damian had said. 

The best exchange of the night was one perhaps Bruce should have dealt with himself. Or probably even handled years ago. Damian, of course, spat out “you are not worthy of calling yourself family,” to Tim, who had honestly not done anything to the boy except exist.

Bruce fought back a groan that was immediately replaced with surprise when Max let out a loud snort of amusement. 

“What, _George_ ,” Damian hissed back, turning his attention to the small child. 

“You’re a hoot, you know that Dami?” Max laughed, amusement in his eyes like he were merely playing with Damian, instead of possibly risking his well being. Bruce should probably definitely talk to the boy about the minefield that was Damian. What kind of seven-year-old says something like ‘you’re a hoot,’ anyway? 

Bruce could see the rage build within Damian. The boy was not used to being picked at. Sure, the other boys insulted him back, but they rarely did so out of _amusement_ , it was always anger and frustration that motivated their words. “Excuse me?” Damian said, narrowing his eyes at Maxwell. 

Max twirled his fork in the air and said, “Everything you say is so funny!” 

To Damian’s credit, he did not launch himself over the table at Max, brandishing a knife as he had done dozens of times to Tim. Instead, he stabbed the last of his broccoli before _demanding_ to be excused from the table. With a curt nod, Bruce dismissed him and the boy stormed off to his room, likely to sulk in private while contemplating how to kill Max without Bruce suspecting it was him. Yep. He needed to have a chat with Max. 

“That was gold,” Tim said with a grin.

“Max,” Bruce said gently, “you should be a little more careful how you speak to Damian. He tends to…” he paused, unsure how to explain it without mentioning the whole assassin side of Damian. 

“Get stabby?” Tim supplied as he stabbed his own piece of food to eat. That didn’t help. 

“Damian won’t stab me,” Max said defensively, “besides I’d like to see him try.”

Tim snorted a laugh and began choking on his food with a fit of coughing. Bruce set his hand on Tim’s back, but did not pat it as was his instinct. He knew patting someone’s back only made choking worse, and the fact that Tim was coughing meant he was breathing and, therefore, did not need any assistance. Instead he just rubbed a circle on his back while Tim struggled to regain his composure. 

“Max,” Bruce said once Tim had quieted down, “I wouldn’t challenge Damian like that if I were you, okay? Just try not too provoke him too much.” 

Max slumped in his chair and rested his head in his hand. “That’s no fun,” he murmured as he toyed with his mashed potatoes. 

After a few more minutes, the three finished eating and Tim helped Bruce clear the table while Max ran off to play in his room, or pester Damian. Bruce wasn’t entirely sure which, but didn’t want to get sucked into it if he were, in fact, bothering Damian. Now was Tim’s time, and he didn’t want to let Max and Damian interfere with that. 

“So, now what?” Tim asked as they made their way to the upstairs den. 

Bruce wasn’t entirely sure how to answer that question. He was hoping Tim would do the choosing. “What would you like to do? We’ve got three hours until patrol.” 

Tim walked into the den and turned to face Bruce. “You’re serious about this?”

Bruce smiled and dropped down onto the couch. “Of course. Whatever you want, let’s do it.” 

With a sigh, Tim walked over to the entertainment center and pulled out a box from one of the shelves. He dug through until he seemed to find what he wanted, and without warning, tossed a wireless controller at Bruce. It took Bruce by surprise, but he caught it without issue, of course. After another minute of shuffling through a CD case of games, Tim inserted a disk into the Xbox and joined Bruce on the couch. 

“What are we playing?” Bruce asked as he inspected the controller. He had played video games before, but it had been years at that point, honestly, and he wasn’t entirely sure if he remembered how to use the controller. He couldn’t recall exactly, but the device looked a lot like the one that belonged to that console they had when Dick was a child. The one where they played as the red guy and jumped around on stuff. He remembered A was the button that jumped, or something like that. He mashed at the button, but nothing happened on the screen, which was asking for both players to press A to continue. 

“Just a racing game,” Tim said dismissively as he reached over and turned Bruce’s controller on for him. Bruce hit the A again, and this time the screen recognized him as player 2. 

After a couple minutes of setting up his name and his race car, Tim chose a race track and pressed start. Bruce lost. Miserably. He kept running off the side of the road and into the other cars. The next three races went the same way. Bruce was improving, ever so slightly, but still never managed to make it into the top three. Tim, on the other hand, won first place each time without even seeming to try. 

Despite the frustration the game was giving him, Bruce didn’t let any of it show on his face. That was mostly because the reality that he was sitting there playing video games with Tim kept him far happier than he had been in ages. 

After a few more rounds, Tim had them switch consoles entirely so they were playing on the Nintendo whatever it was. A Wii, Bruce thought. Although he was pretty sure he had purchased at least two new Nintendo things since this Wii, but it seemed that neither of them were ever used. Tim put in a game called “Mario Party” and handed Bruce the ridiculous remote that controlled the game. 

Bruce recognized the red guy from those games he and Dick had played so many years ago. Mario, Bruce remembered now. Dick had loved Mario games. He knew Tim had never been a fan of Nintendo anything, and usually preferred to play games with a lot of action and story. It was actually an odd choice for Tim, he realized. 

“I thought you’d enjoy this more than the first person shooter games,” Tim explained when the title screen popped up. Once again, Tim had to help Bruce get the controller connected. Tim chose to play as a little ghost guy, while Bruce chose to be the spiky turtle. 

This game was far easier to grasp. Each little mini game they played had a tutorial for how to play before hand, meaning Bruce wasn’t just blindly mashing buttons. As the game progressed, Bruce had actually won several mini games, and was in second place, right behind Tim. 

During one particularly frustrating mini game, Bruce had to make his turtle guy, which Tim called _Bowser_ , what a stupid name, climb up a building by jumping from platform to platform, all while Tim and the computers were shooting balls at him. After managing to get all the way to the top without getting hit once, Bruce raised his arms in the air triumphantly and shouted in victory. 

He looked over to gloat at Tim, who was staring at him with a small smile on his lips, and a much larger one dancing in his eyes. Bruce smiled back and asked “What?”

Tim looked back toward the screen and pressed A on his controller to start his turn. “You’re serious about this, aren’t you?” he said quietly, not taking his eyes off the screen. The die on the screen rolled until Tim’s ghost thing, called _Boo_ , so original, jumped up at Tim’s command and stopped it at ’4.’

“About what?” Bruce asked, while he watched the screen pick which mini game they would play next. It ended up being some game where they jump around and collect the bouncing balls that were their color. Bruce was blue. 

Tim’s character jumped around on screen, how on earth did ghosts jump?, while he collected the red balls. “About this. Tuesdays.” 

“Yeah,” he answered. He was serious about it. So far, they had played a couple really stupid, pointless games. Bruce had been frustrated and annoyed by some aspects of the games, and mildly entertained by others. It was a major waste of time, playing these games, in the grand scheme of things. There was probably a hundred things he could be doing to better spend his time, but the past two hours had been the best time he had spent with Tim probably ever and Bruce was enjoying himself. He was marveling in his son’s presence, and was already looking forward to next week. He just hoped Tim was enjoying himself as much as Bruce was. “This is nice.” 

Tim nodded absently when the game declared him the winner. “Yeah.” Tim sat back on the couch, shifting himself so he was a little closer to Bruce. Their shoulders were almost touching, but not quite. 

“Thanks for coming, Tim,” Bruce said as he moved his turtle through his turn, “I’ve missed having you around.” 

Tim closed the rest of the distance between them and rested his head on Bruce’s shoulder. ‘I’ve missed you, too.” After a few minutes of silence, Tim abruptly sat up and said, “This was Dick’s idea, wasn’t it.” It wasn’t a question. 

“Yes,” Bruce admitted, a little sad as Tim’s weight left his shoulder. It had been Dick’s idea, but it was an idea Bruce loved. “But I chose to implement the idea, because I liked it, not because he made me. I wish I had thought of Father/Son night years ago.” 

With the final sentence, Tim seemed to let go of whatever aggravation he had over the thought of Dick being the mastermind behind their game night. He visibly melted and rested up against Bruce again. 

“Maybe then you’d be better at video games,” Tim said with a chuckle, just as his character won yet another mini game. 

Bruce jostled Tim, just slightly, for the remark, but laughed at the same time. He did suck at video games, didn’t he? 

“Are you planning on keeping Max?” Tim said, changing the subject abruptly. 

It wasn’t something Bruce had really thought through. Not fully. He really had no intention on getting rid of Max, but at the same time, he wasn’t sure whether keeping him was even an option. The boy had mentioned having an uncle. An uncle who took care of him when he was little. Bruce needed to do some research and track down the uncle, because maybe the man would want his nephew back? If Bruce had raised a child from a toddler to age seven, he’d want to keep the boy too. 

But no, that probably wasn’t a good idea. His uncle was likely the same man who didn’t teach Max his shapes and colors, and kept him from attending school. No, giving him back to his uncle probably was not a good idea. But what if the boy had other family, though? Family who loved him and wanted him? Maxwell was such a great kid, Bruce couldn’t imagine why anyone related to him wouldn’t want him around. 

Even so, the selfishness in Bruce bubbled up. Max was a great kid. He was amazing, and Bruce genuinely loved having the child around. The boy had been living in his house for a mere three days, and already Bruce couldn’t imagine him not being there. How would they go on after he left? He had fit into the family so perfectly, so naturally, it was as if he always belonged. Yes. Bruce wanted to keep him, he just wasn’t sure if that were an option. 

“I would like to, but I don’t know if I can.” 

“Of course you can, you’re _Bruce Wayne_. 

Bruce laughed. It had always been kind of a joke within the family. He’s _Batman_ , he’s _Bruce Wayne_. Between the two personas he could make anything happen. Well, almost anything. “He’s a good kid.” 

Tim shrugged. “He might be a little crazy. I mean, he pesters Damian and acts like its a joke.” 

“He’s a natural little brother.” It was Bruce’s final turn on the game. He let the little die spin until he snatched a ‘2.’ He had wanted a ‘4.’ “Dammit.” 

Tim shifted. “Are you going to tell him?”

“No. He’s seven.” A good reason not to tell him, Bruce thought. Sure, he had told Dick when he wasn’t too much older than Max, but Dick and Max were very different children. They had come into the house in different ways. Batman took in Dick while Bruce had taken in Max. Besides, with as big a fan Max was of superheros, could he really keep it to himself if he knew the identities of five? “I can’t trust him with such a large secret.”

“Bruce,” Tim pressed start to begin the next mini game, “I knew when I was seven and I never spilled.”

“Yeah, but you figured it out yourself.” Dammit to hell another racing game. 

“So? Besides, didn’t he keep even his name secret from you? For months? _You?_ If he can keep something so basic from you, I think he can keep his mouth shut about your identity.” 

“I don’t want him dragged into our world, Tim.” His little turtle fell off the track and set Bruce back from second place. 

“Telling him isn’t making him Robin, Bruce. It’s explaining to him why you aren't in your bed when he wakes up in the middle of the night. It’s letting him know that you’re going on a mission with the Justice League when you leave for a week without warning. It’s giving him a reason when you don’t come back.” 

When he doesn’t come back. His job was a lot like being a cop. His family, his kids weren’t sure if he would return at the end of the night. If they’d see him again every time he left for a new mission. They had already lost him once to a Justice League trip, it wasn’t too hard for them to worry that it would happen again. And this time be permanent. 

But, if that were to happen, they could always come up with a reason. Tell Max his plane crashed. He was in a car accident. Something. They didn’t have to tell the boy he was Batman. Sure, maybe it would be better to know the truth, but he was just a child.

“I don’t want him to know,” Bruce sighed, “Not yet, at least. Maybe in a few years, if we get to keep him. But right now, no.” 

Bruce had caught up to Tim, who was in first place. If Bruce won this mini game he could win the entire game. As they neared the final turn on the course, Bruce reached his arm out to block Tim’s view so he would crash into the side of the track.

“Bruce! This is cheating!” he shouted, his voice distorted by his laughter. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Timbo.” The game declared ‘finished’ and showed Bruce’s turtle as the winner. 

Tim elbowed Bruce in the side. “Cheater,” he grumbled. The boy got up to put away the controllers and shut down the system.

“I’m gonna make sure Max made it to bed and Damian is preparing for patrol,” Bruce said as he stood. The three hours had passed far too quickly, but it was a good night. He couldn’t wait for his time with Damian the following evening. Hopefully it was going to be as pleasant. 

Bruce made his way upstairs to the family wing and stopped outside Max’s door. He couldn’t hear any sounds from inside and determined the child was not in his room. Great. Tracking down a seven-year-old in this huge Manor was going to be difficult. Although knowing Alfred, the man probably knew exactly where each person in the house was. 

He walked further down the hall and stopped outside Damian’s room. Inside he heard the sound of something being shaken around? Like a box of rocks, but more plastic sounding? With a knock he opened the door and peeked his head in. There, on the floor, was Max and a box of legos. Ah. Legos, that was the sound. 

“Hi Bruce,” Max said, barely looking up from his hunt for whatever it was he was searching for so loudly, “we’re building a lego helicopter for Robin to fly around. It’s supposed to be black but I thought robins colors would be better but we don’t have the right pieces.” Max frowned and kept digging through the box. 

Bruce looked over at Damian, who was sitting on his bed petting Titus. The boy’s scowl appeared to be permanently plastered to his face. He really was not enjoying Max’s company. Or, was at least trying to make Bruce think he wasn’t.

“ _We_ are doing nothing. George barged into my room with his ridiculous blocks and I have only refrained from disposing of him out of respect for you, Father.” 

“He was helping!” Max screeched, “besides I thought he’d want to help build a helicopter that was just for Robin and not one he had to steal from Batman. We can call it the Robin-copter or the bird-copter or something. Bruce! We need more green blocks!” Max pushed the box off him in a pout. 

Bruce chuckled and helped Max clean up the mess he made by tipping the box over. “Tomorrow, maybe, we can go back to the store and find what you need, okay? It’s bed time now.” 

“Fine.” 

“And Max? Make sure it’s okay with Damian before you come into his room, okay?” 

“Sure.” Max grinned at Damian, who rolled his eyes and huffed. 

“Off to bed with you,” Bruce said after they had everything packed into the plastic bin. Max smiled and skipped out of the room and down the hall. 

“A helicopter for Robin, huh?” Bruce asked.

Damian’s scowl deepened, a feat impressive to Bruce. Leave it to Damian to appear more aggravated when his maximum level of annoyance had already been met. “It was his idea. He insisted I was the one who should help since it was for Robin. Father, I thought you said he didn’t know.” 

Bruce blinked. He hadn’t told Max. “He doesn’t? Did he suggest he knew?” 

The boy’s expression softened. “No. Not exactly, but I got the impression he wanted my help because I am Robin.” 

“Maybe he just wanted your help because you’re a kid the same age as Robin? Or because you’re his big brother now and he wanted to spend time with you. I can tell he really likes you.” 

“Tt. I am not his brother.” Damian crossed his arms and leaned back against the headboard on his bed.

“Is Dick your brother?” 

Damian hesitated. Bruce knew the child already followed his train of thought to the conclusion, but he was going to lead him down it anyway. 

“No,” he finally said, unsure. Like it was painful to say. 

“He still acts like it, though, right?” 

“Tt. Against my wishes.” 

Bruce smiled. He knew Damian adored Dick and was nothing but pleased whenever the young adult paid him attention. “Max needs someone like Dick. He needs someone to treat him the way Dick treats you, and I think you’re perfect for the role of big brother.” 

“He is not my brother!” Damian shouted. 

“Damian, son, I am proud of how you’ve been treating Max so far. Whether you see him as a brother or not, I appreciate you treating him like one.” Even if the boy refused to admit it, Bruce could see the friendship forming, the small connections between the boys building. Damian might be fighting it now, but one day he’ll be just as glad to see Maxwell as he was to see Dick, Bruce knew it. 

Damian gave one last huff. “Father can we go patrol, now?” 

Bruce motioned for the door and followed Damian out. In the hallway, he stepped on a lego. It felt like he was being stabbed, the sharp pain screaming from the ball of his foot. He bent down and retrieved the little toy. It was one of the 2x4 pieces, red in color. Bruce smiled. It was nice having a child in the house again. Especially one who was so good at bringing the child in Damian out. Tomorrow he’d have to bring the boys back to the toy store to buy more legos so they could complete their helicopter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluffy! I have only done one quick copy edit, so I apologize if I’ve missed anything big. I’ll likely reread tonight or tomorrow and fix anything I’ve missed.
> 
> I shamelessly picked a Mario game because tbh I haven’t really played first person shooter games. Heh. They were never my style. I’m a Super Mario 64 kinda girl! 
> 
> Thank you for reading! As always I appreciate your comments/suggestions. I love reading them. <3


	13. Babysitter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason is not a babysitter. No way.

November came and went faster than Bruce could blink. The family settled into a steady routine between adding school and the new father/son nights on the schedule, and Damian didn’t throw too big a fit about his new curfew of 1am. All-in-all it was a nice month.

Damian hated school. Despised it. But he hadn’t caused too much trouble. Bruce had received a few emails about his attitude and his tendency to belittle his classmates and teachers, but he had not threatened to kill anyone yet, so Bruce counted it as a win. Actually, Bruce was very proud of how well Damian was handling everything. He was throwing fewer and fewer fits and the two of them had only had a couple shouting matches recently. 

Max, on the other hand, adored school. The boy loved learning, and was thriving with the social aspect of school. He fit in naturally among his peers. Perhaps the children in his grade were too young to allow class to blind them from being his friend, but Bruce was relieved his youngest ward didn’t seem to be dealing with the stigma of being a “charity case” that his oldest two occasionally dealt with. Or perhaps, by now, the parents of Gotham Academy have caught on that Bruce Wayne did not handle his sons being picked on very well and already told their children to behave. Whatever it was, Bruce was just glad Max was making friends. 

Both Max and Damian seemed to enjoy their one-on-one time with Bruce, as well. Maxwell usually wanted to play Scrabble. He almost regretted suggesting the game their first night, but the lad hadn’t been very interested in any of the children’s games, and when he learned it was a _word_ game he was all over it. Bruce didn’t even have to throw to game to lose it to Max, sometimes. 

Damian preferred to spend his time with Bruce just chatting. The boy usually painted while the pair exchanged stories of their time before meeting each other. It was nice. Bruce loved watching Damian paint. He seemed to see tiny details Bruce couldn’t see, not even after them being pointed out. Simple things, like how skin color had some green in it, or the sky needed purple. It was mesmerizing to watch him expertly fold in paint after paint until the mixture was a perfect recreation of the color he needed. 

On Monday, two weeks into December, Bruce finally received the call he had been dreading. There was an emergency meeting on the Watchtower. Since he kept up with whatever the League was monitoring, he was aware that he would be needed for an off-world mission with the Justice League. Zod was threatening the universe. Again. Bruce would have been content to let Superman deal with it, but it seemed the League felt more of them were required. 

It meant missing Tim and Damian’s night. It meant leaving Max at home, and Alfred was in England visiting family. He could always call him back, the man would come immediately at his request. But no, he couldn’t do that. He could get Dick to come watch the boys. Or possibly Tim? No that was a terrible idea. He and Damian still weren’t getting along, and Tim was only 17. Too young to be responsible for two kids for so long. 

Apparently it didn’t matter, anyway. When Bruce called Dick, he hit the voicemail, then received a text immediately that said “w/ t in sd. bk fr.” Bruce sighed. Dick was with the Titans in San Diego and wouldn’t be back until Friday. He could probably call him back now, but Dick hadn't been spent much time with the Teen Titans in the past few years, and Bruce didn’t want to disrupt that. So he was left having to ask Alfred to cancel his trip. Again. 

Jason. 

Jason was an option, right? He… could trust him and Damian to get along. Right? Yes, of course. Jason was his son. He could be trusted. 

Bruce almost hit call from his cell phone, then remembered the teen’s habit of never answering Bruce’s calls. Instead, he grabbed the house phone and dialed Jason’s cell. 

“What’s up?” Jason answered after a few rings. He sounded like he was in a good mood. 

Bruce took a deep breath and said, “Hey Jason,” then prepared himself for the inevitable click that would happen.

“Tricky bastard,” Jason mumbled, “what do you want?”

Bruce blinked. Jason hadn’t hang up. “I, uh- I’m needed on the Watchtower and need someone to watch the boys.” 

“Yeah? What’s wrong with Alfie?” Bruce could hear the eye roll, but the attitude was mixed with a touch of concern.

“He’s in England”

“Oh. And Goldie is in California.” 

Right, of course Jason would know that and not Bruce. They were closer to each other than they were with Bruce, anyway. 

“Why not Tim?”

“He’s too young. Jay, please, just for a couple days.” 

“I”m not a fucking babysitter, B. Why don’t you hire a service?”

“Jase, please.” Bruce was begging now. He never begged. “You’re Max’s favorite.”

“No. Red Hood is his favorite. Not Jason Todd.”

Okay, that was true. But if Max knew they were the same people, Jason would be the favorite, too. Bruce was sure. “You’re also his favorite brother.”

“You’re making that shit up he’s met me once and he’s not my brother.”

“Which is why you’re perfect. You can get to know him.”

“Bruce-”

“Jason, please, if you can’t come watch him I’ll have to call Alfred back from his early Christmas trip with his family.”

“Don’t you dare,” Jason hissed,” what time?”

“The meeting is this evening at 8pm. I need you here before that, say 6?”

Jason grumbled, “Fine. But you owe me so much.”

“Thanks, Jay.” Bruce put the phone back on the wall. Great. Perfect. Jason and the boys. By themselves. For a couple days.

What carnage would Bruce return to?

Bruce pushed that thought out of his mind while he began making a list. Oh God, he was making a _list_. Like one of those worried parents. He was a worried parent, wasn’t he? What had happened? How’d he get like that? Nevermind. He knew. Five boys and fourteen years of fatherhood put him here. He was well aware what kind of chaos his kids could create without supervision. 

The list was simple. It had the boys’ routine written down, complete with what they they had to be at school and when their curfews were. Max wasn’t allowed out alone, of course, but Damian could if he behaved and wore his tracker. Almost as an afterthought, Bruce wrote down the numbers of several people Jason could call for help, like Leslie. 

What would Clark say if he saw Bruce acting like this? Speaking of, he added Lois’s number to the list. They had a son between Damian and Max’s ages, she probably could answer questions for Jason if he had any. 

Jason arrived at the manor at 6:30, as Bruce expected. 

“Where’re the brats?” he said in greeting, while dumping his bag on the floor of the foyer. 

“Setting the table for dinner. Hungry?” Bruce closed the door and turned toward the dinning room.

After hesitating, Jason fell in step with Bruce and asked, “Did you make it?”

Bruce grunted and nodded. 

Jason scrunched his face. “How burnt is it?” 

“It’s spaghetti. I may not be Alfred, but I can boil pasta and brown ground beef.” 

When they entered the dinning room, Damian narrowed his eyes at Jason, while Max seemed to freeze momentarily before relaxing again. 

“Oh, hi Jason!” Max nearly sang.

Damian spat, “What are _you_ doing here, Todd?”

“Good to see you too, Demon Brat,” he said with a wave of his hand at Damian before spinning toward Bruce, “you didn’t fu-ricken tell them yet?” 

“Tell us what?” Damian demanded. 

Hmm. Maybe he should have warned the boys? It hadn’t occurred to him that this would be an issue. “Something came up with work. I have to go out of town last second, and I asked Jason to stay here for a few days while I’m gone.” 

Damian rolled his eyes and flipped his hood up over his head. 

“You’re leaving?” Max shouted, “During your week with us?” His face was much easier to read than Damian’s. He looked hurt and annoyed, but also like he had expected this. 

With his week with them? What did that even mean? He-

Oh.

Oh, shit. This was the week it was just Bruce and the boys. No Alfred to help with anything. Bruce driving them to and from school. Bruce cooking dinner. Bruce helping them with homework. This was his week with them. He didn’t realize either boy even cared. 

“I’m sorry, Max. I’m upset about this, too, but I can’t say no to this trip. It’s really important.” 

“You suck,” Max murmured while he, too, sank into a pout at the table. 

Bruce shrugged, unsure what else to say. He really couldn’t just call off the trip. He was a member of the Justice League, and no matter how much he’d like to tell them to leave him alone and do this without him, he couldn’t. They’d never trust him again if he just blew them off, especially without an explanation. Besides, he wasn’t the only one in the group with a family. 

He went to the kitchen to retrieve the spaghetti he had prepared and set it in the center of the table, along with some freezer garlic bread he had heated up. It wasn’t much. Alfred would probably be horrified at the lack of a vegetable, but at least he had remembered to keep the meat separate from the pasta so Damian wouldn’t refuse to eat. 

Dinner went silently. Neither boy said goodbye to him, which was probably easier, since he needed to sneak back into the cave anyway to actually leave. He’d have to think of a way to make it up to them when he got back. He knew Damian understood. The boy wasn’t actually mad at Bruce, but seemed to be angry at the world. But what else was new? Maxwell didn’t understand, because he didn’t know Bruce wasn’t just going last second to some meeting in China, but was leaving earth to go fight a super villain. And because Max didn’t know, he couldn’t discuss the details of it with the other boys before he left. Not without hurting Max further by banishing him from the room to speak in private with the others.

Maybe Alfred was right, when he had lectured Bruce one night a few days after taking in Max. By giving Max a home he’s taking one away from his other kids. A place where they could be their full selves without fear of their words ruining their lives. Exposing their identities. He had stolen the one place of solace they all had in common, including himself. Most people knew either their vigilante identity or their civilian identity. Neither side of any of them was their true self. They were really all a mix of the two sides, and no where could they be who they really were. Now they couldn’t even be their true selves at home. 

But Max wasn’t there permanently, not yet at least. His social worker had been clear about that to Bruce. He couldn’t risk letting the child in on this secret, just to have him taken away and placed somewhere else, where he might run his mouth to impress someone. And some of the children in foster care were well connected with the underworld of Gotham. He couldn’t risk that. 

He couldn’t tell Max. 

These were the thoughts that occupied his time the five days he was off-world. Superman had attempted to chat with him several times, but each time he shut the alien down and told him to focus on the mission. A bit of guilt ate at him when he realized he had never told Clark he had taken in another child, but its not like the two spoke often, anyway. It was none of his business. Besides, Clark rarely spoke to Bruce about Jon, either. So why should Bruce tell Clark about his kids?

\----

When Bruce finally arrived home Saturday afternoon, he made his way out of the cave and to the car he kept hidden near one of the entrances. He had put it there just so he could then return home as Bruce Wayne when needed without Maxwell becoming suspicious. 

He found Max in the library with Jason and saw something that stuck him as odd, but he couldn’t quite figure out why. Jason was sitting on a couch, reading a book aloud to Max. Something about aliens, it sounded like. Probably one of the _Ender’s Game_ sequels, based on the character names. Max was sitting next to Jason, sideways on the couch, his back resting against the teen’s side, his eyes closed. It was sweet. Bruce wanted to take a picture, but also didn’t want to risk pissing Jason off. 

Then it hit him. Max wasn’t a physically affectionate kid. He actually hated it. Worse than Damian. Damian grumbled and threatened to kill people when they tried to hug him, because it embarrassed him. Max flinched and retreated, like he was afraid of it. Here he was willingly snoozing against Jason, just like a normal little kid. Heh. Bruce was right. Jason would be his favorite. 

Jason looked up and shut the book. “Hey, Bruce.”

At the mention of his name, Max’s eyes shot open. “Bruce! You’re back!” He hopped up and ran over to Bruce, smiling. “That took you longer than a couple days,” he commented with a sudden frown. 

“I know, buddy,” Bruce said, risking a ruffle of the boy’s hair. No reaction. Maybe he was just having a good day. “I’m sorry about that, but I promise to take a whole week off for Christmas, okay?” 

“All right!” he shouted, skipping out of the room. “Dami! Your dad is back!” Bruce listened to Max run down the hall and to the stairs, apparently to retrieve Damian. 

“How’d it go?” Bruce asked, turning his attention to Jason, who was awkwardly fiddling with his watch. 

“Has Max ever opened up to you?” Jason asked, ignoring the question. There was something on Jason’s face Bruce couldn’t identify. Grief? 

“Uh, about what? We talk.”

“About… About his life?” Jason was refusing to meet Bruce’s eyes, and was still fiddling with his watch. 

Did Max ever open up to Bruce about his life. Kind of? Sometimes. 

“No,” he admitted. Max didn’t open up to Bruce. Everything Bruce knew about the kid he had inferred from his conversations with the boy. 

“Bruce, he was-” The sound of excited running on the floor above them interrupted Jason. 

“Damian!” they could hear Max shouting, “Hurry up!” 

“Just,” Jason sighed and rubbed his face. “Don’t push him. Respect his boundaries and make Dick respect them. He’s afraid of us, don’t make him think his fears are justified.”

Respect his- what? Bruce respected his kids. He didn’t need to be told to do so by Jason. And Max was not afraid of them. Sure, he flinched sometimes, but so did Jason when he first moved in. He’d get over it. Bruce was never going to hit Max, so he would never make the child think his fears are justified. Just as Jason had relaxed, so would Max. 

Bruce must not have hidden his thoughts from his face well enough, because Jason scowled and spat, “Just trust me for once in your fucking life.”

“Jason, I-” trust you, he was going to say, but he got interrupted by Max running back into the room, dragging a grumpy Damian with him.

“Welcome back, Father,” Damian said curtly. 

“Hey. What do you boys say we go out for dinner tonight? All of us.” Bruce looked over at Jason, asking the teen to join them.

“Nope. No way. I’m leaving. Bye squirts.” Jason patted each boy’s head as he walked past them and out the room. Max smiled brightly, while Damian swatted his hand away. 

“Father. Next time you must leave us with a _sitter_ please choose someone other than Todd.” 

“What? I like him!” 

“Tt. Of course you do. You are an imbecile just like him, George.” 

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. And to think he missed these two while he was away. 

“Stop calling me that!” Max screamed, his high pitch voice grating against Bruce’s ears. 

“It’s not nice to call him an imbecile, Damian,” Bruce offered. 

“No, not that. Stop calling me ‘George.’” Max turned toward Damian and put his hands on his hips, as if daring Damian to respond. 

Of course Bruce’s son couldn’t resist. “It is your name, _George_ ,” he sneered with a devious smirk. 

“Not its not!” Max pushed Damian back with impressive strength. Damian actually stumbled backward, only slightly. And mostly out of shock more than anything. 

Before anything further could happen, Bruce stepped forward and put a hand on each boy’s chest, keeping them separate. “Damian.” he snapped, sending his son a look. “Max, pushing is not acceptable. You do not attack someone because you’re angry with them.” 

Damian let out a sarcastic laugh, while Max said, “oh that’s rich.” 

“Excuse me?” Bruce asked, giving each boy a questioning glance. 

Max ignored him and turned back to Damian. “Stop calling me George! My name is Max!”

“Your name is Maxwell _George_.”

“No! George is my dad’s name and I hate him! Stop calling me his name!” Max pushed against Bruce’s hand slightly, but stopped when he seemed to remember Bruce wouldn’t let him lash out physically again. 

“It’s still _your_ surname.” 

Dammit Damian. Why’d the boys have to have their first big fight five seconds after Bruce got back from an exhausting mission?

“No! You don’t get it.” Max quieted his voice, and spoke with a bit less anger than before, “Your last name is Wayne. Of course you don’t get it. Call me Max or don’t talk to me.” 

Damian smirked, as if saying ‘is that a promise?’ before frowning slightly. The boys stared at each other for a solid minute before Bruce finally broke the tension. 

“So. Dinner? How does steak sound?”

“Deplorable, Father. Do you know how they treat the cattl-”

“Okay. Not steak. Italian? Let’s get Italian.” Bruce dropped his hands from the boys, hoping the change in topic would prevent another fight. 

“Do I have to wear a suit?” Max asked.

Bruce laughed, “No. We’ll go somewhere casual. Go get ready.” 

He watched as both boys exited the room. Max’s social worker had said he tended to attack his foster brothers, usually unprovoked. This was not unprovoked, but Bruce was surprised it happened at all. Max wasn’t usually one to let words get under his skin. He wondered if something had happened while he was away. Had they been fighting more, recently? Was Max just in a mood today? He seemed to be in a really good mood when Bruce first arrived home. Maybe he should chat with Jason, find out what the teen knew about Max. Maybe he should just chat with Max, find out what’s going on. Jason seemed to angry with him earlier. It was unlikely he’d chat with Bruce. Not that the boy ever talked to him. 

Hopefully that would change. Now that he and Max seemed to have formed a decent relationship, Jason would come around more often, right? If only to see Max. Bruce let himself smile at that thought as he took the two youngest boys to dinner. Jason over more often would be nice. Even if he refused to speak to Bruce.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the longer-than-normal gap in updates! Procrastination is my enemy. (I haven't even done my taxes yet! Eep.) But on the upside, my apartment is SUPER clean. Because that's what I did yesterday. Instead of taxes or writing. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! I'll get the next chapter up in the next few days. Most my evening responsibilities are on hold for the next two weeks, since the schools are on spring break or something, so I should have a bit more time. Maybe I can get the rest of this written in the meantime!


	14. Knives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who knew a knife could bring healing. Why does a 12-year-old need a knife, anyway?

The next few days passed without much trouble. Alfred returned home Sunday night, and it was as if he never left. Jason, of course, hadn't come by again, but what else was new? Tim, on the other hand, came home on Tuesday and remained there. He even asked Bruce for a ride to work each following day, suggesting he intended to return to the Manor afterward. Bruce tried to hide how absolutely thrilled it made him. He was afraid he might embarrass the boy and cause him to run off again. 

Friday came around and seemed to be just another day. Breakfast was quiet, but not tensely so. Work was aggravating, but when wasn't it? Just before lunch, however, Bruce received a phone call from Gotham Academy. Great, Bruce thought, one of the boys has done something.

“Bruce Wayne,” he answered, leaning back in his desk chair, ready to hear the bad news.

“Mr. Wayne. My name is Ms. Kowski, I’m the Headmistress at Gotham Academy,” the monotone voice said, devoid of all emotion.

Bruce smiled one of his fake playboy smiles, “Yes, I believe we have met on multiple occasions.”

“Mr. Wayne. I have your son in my office and I am requesting your presence, not that of your ward or butler.”

Bruce rolled his eyes, he was well aware of high society’s view of his children. Damian was the only one anywhere near accepted among his social class, but even then the boy was illegitimate, and for some reason that was an issue. Despite the evidence, most people did not seem to believe Bruce really did consider the boys he took in as his sons. Even Ms. Kowski, apparently, who had such a high opinion of Maxwell. Or at least, she had, over a month ago. 

“Which one? I think I have two attending Gotham Academy. Unless one of the others wandered in and got lost, in which case I can see why you’d want them removed.”

“Damian, Mr. Wayne,” the voice barked. Bruce grinned.

“What has he done? I am very busy here and can’t just step away if it’s nothing important.”

“Mr. Wayne. I would prefer not to discuss this over the phone. Please come to my office immediately so we can discuss the boy’s behavior and the consequences of it. Thank you, I will see you soon.”

With that, the woman hung up the phone. “Okay,” Bruce said to the phone before pressing the intercom. “Caroline?” Bruce sighed into the mic, “I have to leave the office, please get a hold of Tim and have him step in for me for the next couple hours.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Wayne,” the cheery voice responded.

Slowly, Bruce made his way to his car and made the five mile drive over to the boys’ school, all while dread filled his body. Damian could be such a difficult child. Bruce, Alfred, and Dick could handle him well enough, but his attitude could be pretty grating. There was no telling what the child could have done. He most likely threatened to kill his teacher, Bruce thought bitterly. Damian loved to remind everyone he knew hundreds of ways to kill. What had happened? He thought they were making such good progress with the boy.

After parking and walking into the building, the secretary at the reception desk simply pointed toward the Headmistress’s office. Bruce knocked on the door and entered when the woman inside said “Come in, Mr. Wayne.”

Bruce opened the door and looked inside. Damian sat in the arm chair near the window, scowl plastered on his face and arms crossed. He slumped down into the chair when Bruce stepped inside and refused to meet Bruce’s scrutinizing gaze. Petulant as ever, Bruce thought.

With a bright smile, Bruce asked, “Ms. Kowski, What seems to be the trouble?”

“Please have a seat, Mr. Wayne.”

After sitting, Bruce turned to Damian, but the child still refused to look at his father.

“It seems young Mr. Wayne here brought a knife to school. We have strict policies against bringing weapons to school and the punishment for such an offense is expulsion and a referral to the police department.”

“Ms. Kowski, I’m sure we can come to an agreement without resorting to such harsh solutions.”

“I’m not sure you understand how serious this is, Mr. Wayne.”

“Have you asked Damian why he brought a knife to school?”

“It does not matter why a child brings a weapon to school. It is absolutely forbidden.”

“How did you even find out he had it?”

“Another child reported he kept reaching for something.”

Damian shifted in his seat and rested his head in his hand, still refusing to look over at Bruce.

With a sigh, the frustrated father said, “I assume your policy is to protect the other students from a student who wishes them harm. Had Damian brought a gun, which I assure you he has no access to, this would be an entirely different matter, but he brought a knife.” Bruce turned his attention to his young child, who stiffened at the attention. 

It had been two years since Damian had come to live with Bruce, and one of those years Bruce wasn’t even around. One year. That’s how long Bruce has had to spend with this child. This angry little child, who didn’t know how to be a child and didn’t know how to have and express emotions properly. Even though Bruce hadn't known his son long, he had been learning to read his body language. Through the scowl and anger he portrayed, Bruce could see the fear hiding just beneath the surface. Fear of disappointing his father. Fear of those around him he can’t control. Fear of rejection.

“Damian, look at me,” he commanded.

Damian obeyed and muttered “I’m sorry, Father.”

“Damian you cannot bring knives or any sort of weapon to school.”

“But, Father I--” Damian trailed off and looked away.

Instead of shutting him down, like he would have normally done whenever a child of his started an argument with ‘but’ like that, Bruce decided to hear the boy out. “But what? Why do you find it necessary to have a knife?”

Damian cut his eyes back over to his father, surprise the man wanted to listen evident on his face. “What if someone attacks me? How will I defend myself?”

Bruce sighed. He knew that would be his defense, but it still broke his heart that his twelve year old son felt so unsafe in his everyday life.

“Damian. Do you carry a knife with you at home?” Bruce knew he did, of course. The kid pulled one far too often, usually while tormenting Tim, to not carry one on his person, but he also knew when the child didn't have one on him, which was quite often.

The boy shifted uncomfortably and flickered his eyes to the headmistress and back to Bruce. “Sometimes.”

“Last night. When you and Richard watched a movie, did you have a knife on you then?”

“No….” Damian said slowly.

“How about at breakfast this morning? Did you have one then?”

“No.” he responded, much quicker this time.

“And last week? When you and your brothers played in the pool?”

“No.”

“What about on Wednesday, when you and I read in the library?”

Damian became impatient. “No. Father, what is your point?”

“Why don’t you always carry a knife around at home?”

“Because there is no one of any threat to me there.” Damian said it so matter-of-factly, Bruce knew it would help the case he was going to make. Of course, the child meant that he could best anyone in the house, which was hilariously inaccurate, but no one in the house would want to beat him, so it didn't matter anyhow.

“That’s right, what’s the word for that? You are, what?”

Damian scrunched his eyebrows and looked at Bruce quizzically. He still didn’t understand where his father was going with this line of questioning. “Safe?”

“Yes. Do you know where else you are safe?”

“When I am with you?”

Bruce smiled. He loved that Damian felt safe around him, and loved it even more he was saying such a thing in front of a witness. “Yes, that too. But, Damian, you are safe here, you need not fear your classmates or teachers.”

“But Father I do not know their intentions, how can I trust them?”

“Damian, Richard went to this school. So did Jason and Timothy. None of them were ever harmed here, they were perfectly safe. The teachers and security guards are here to protect you and all the other students. I trust this school with you and Maxwell just as much as I trust Alfred at home when I’m not there. You are safe here and do not need a weapon to defend yourself. Am I clear?”

“Yes, Father.”

“I apologize for this, Ms. Kowski. I understand if you wish to suspend him, but I request you do not expel him so quickly without understanding what Damian has come from. His _mother_ “ Bruce spat the term, “did not provide Damian with a safe environment growing up. He was in constant fear for his life and it has taken a lot of work and reassurance from us for him to come to feel safe anywhere.”

“Father, this is not her concern.” Damian hissed.

"Yes, it is. I’m sorry. I know this information is very personal, but I trust what we discuss will not leave this room, and most certainly will not end up on the front page of the tabloids in the morning.”

Bruce eyed the headmistress, who added a hasty and slightly offended, "Of course! I would never betray the confidence of my students or their parents."

Bruce frowned, “If you had met Damian when he was 10, when I first took custody of him, you would be just as proud as I am of him in his recovery from the abuse he suffered as a child. His mother was incredibly cruel, and those she lived with even more so. He did not bring that knife to school with the intent of harming other students, but simply as a comfort to himself so he could feel safe in an unfamiliar environment. I promise to do a knife check each morning to ensure this never happens again, and just request you please understand his actions for what they were, not what they could have been.”

"I see.” The headmistress sighed and rubbed her face. “Well if that’s the case then I suppose we can let this go with a stern warning. If this happens again, young man, you will be expelled regardless of reasoning. Is that understood?”

Damian nodded “Yes ma’am.”

“Thank you.” Bruce said. “If that’s all, I think I’ll check Damian out for the day and bring him home.”

“Yes. Thank you, Mr. Wayne.”

With that, Bruce led Damian out of the headmistress office and to the secretary’s desk where he signed the paperwork to release his son from school early. On the way to the parking lot, Damian looked to the older man and narrowed his eyes. “Father. I do usually carry a knife on my person around the Manor.”

“I know.”

“But I was not in possession of one any of the times you mentioned. How did you know?”

“You never carry one when wearing pajamas or sweats. Or your bathing suit.”

“How do you know that?”

“Whether you realize it or not, Damian, it is because you feel safe at home, and when you are dressed so casually you know you are remaining at home and not leaving the safety of the Manor.”

“I have no need for a knife while I am in pajamas. I keep one under my pillow.”

Bruce sighed and pulled his son into a side hug as they continued walking to the car. He rubbed the child’s upper arm as he bent down and kissed the top of his head before releasing him. Bruce missed the startled reaction the gesture cause Damian to have. 

“Father you were wrong.”

“What about?”

“Mother did not abuse me.”

“It was abuse.”

“No, it was training.”

“What I do is training. What she did was torture.”

“You sound like Grayson.”

“Dick is a smart man.”

Damian clicked his tongue and huffed. “It was necessary,” he said as he opened the passenger door to the Tesla.

“It was cruel,” Bruce countered as he slid into the driver seat.

“It was necessary,” he repeated, his voice less certain than it was a moment before, “it was the League of Assassins and it was necessary to impress Grandfather.”

Bruce started the car and made his way out of the parking lot and toward Wayne Enterprises. He had too much work to do and didn’t want to drop Damian on Alfred without warning.

He knew he needed to say something, continue this conversation. It was rare he and Damian had such deep conversations. Rare Damian ever spoke of his childhood at all, but Bruce was so bad at emotions. He wanted nothing more than to change topic and discuss something else. It was uncomfortable. He wished Dick were here, he’d know what to say to help Damian. Help him what? Confront his feelings? His past? Help him move past it? Accept it? What was it the boy needed? He clearly needed something. The amount of anger he had toward everyone and everything was unhealthy and not normal for children. Sure none of Bruce’s children have been normal, but only Jason had anything near the anger Damian harbored, and even he was able to laugh and joke around between his violent outbursts. Damian needed help. But what should he say?

Several miles of road was now between the pair and the school. Bruce took a deep breath and gripped the steering wheel tighter. Damian had his head resting in his hand while he stared out the window.

“I’m sorry, Damian. No child should have to earn his family’s love.”

The child snorted a sarcastic laugh that broke Bruce’s heart.

“You know we love you, right? Just as you are? And always will no matter what?”

Damian shook his head and turned his body further away from his father. He was probably trying hard not to cry, Bruce thought, so that he wouldn’t see his son acting like a child.

Bruce wanted to cry. Or scream. Or murder Talia. Probably that last one. How dare she do this to his child, make it to where he couldn’t even see that he was loved in a house where he was nothing but loved. Sure their strange family had weird ways of showing such affection, but it was there. Bruce pulled into the parking garage for WE and waved at the security guard as the man lifted the gate. Finding his parking spot near the elevator, Bruce parked the car and turned in his seat to face his son.

“Damian?" He looked at his son, searching his body language for any sign of acknowledgement. His next words were difficult, but Damian apparently needed to hear them. "I love you, very much. So does everyone else, and that will never change.”

Damian nodded, and Bruce could see the tears in his eyes. He reached out to pull the boy close to him and wrap his arms around his shoulders. Damian gripped Bruce’s arm and started sobbing as Bruce kissed the top of his head for the second time in a day. Why didn't he show his son affection more often? He clearly needed it, and he knew kids needed physical affection, why was he so bad at this? No wonder the boy didn’t know he loved him. Dick was right. He didn't deserve his kid.

“Drake doesn’t.” Damian sniffed after a moment, his sobbing already ended almost as quickly as it began.

“Doesn’t what?”

“Doesn’t... doesn’t. He hates me.”

Oh. “Damian, he does not.” Bruce thought for a second. He actually didn’t know how Tim felt about Damian. The teen certainly didn't _like_ Damian, but it was possible to not like someone, but love them all the same. He knew the teen harbored no ill will toward Damian, and was willing to protect the child, but did that equal love? Did he consider Damian his brother? He’s certainly called Damian his brother before, but that was before the kid had tried to kill him. Maybe he didn’t actually love Damian. Well, there was no reason Damian had to know that. “Tim cares about you very much, you two just fight a lot. Brothers fight, it’s normal.”

“Tt. How would you know, you are an only child.”

Bruce laughed, “I have five boys. Trust me, brothers fight.”

“Only Drake and I fight.”

“Are we talking about the same family? I’m not sure we are. All of you guys fight. You and Tim just fight a bit more than the others.”

“Grayson doesn’t fight.”

“Dick is an adult, but you should have seen him and Jason when they were teens.”

“Really?”

“Yes I don’t think they did anything but fight. He didn’t really fight with Tim, I think he felt guilty for fighting with Jason so much before he died, he didn’t want to push another brother away. And you? Dick adores you, I can’t see him ever fighting with you. He fights with Jason now but Jason fights with everyone. Max loves pressing your buttons, you've just been mature enough to not let it get to you much. Yes. Brothers fight. If you didn’t love each other you wouldn’t put in the effort.”

“Oh." Damian nodded slowly and sat up, away from Bruce's embrace. "I’m sorry, Father.”

“For what?”

“Just....” Damian makes a hand motion that meant ‘everything’ and rubbed at his cheek, with the sleeve of his coat.

Bruce understood. He was embarrassed for showing emotion, and apologizing for being weak. “Damian, it’s okay to cry. It’s good for you. Do you feel better?”

“I suppose.”

“And you know what?

“Hm?”

“I bet Tim would be nicer to you if you started calling him 'Tim' instead of 'Drake.'”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Max isn’t the only one who hates being called by his last name. He’s just the only one who has called you out on it. It’s one of his insecurities and every time you call him Drake it’s like you’re reminding him that you're my blood and he is not. That you're important and he is not.”

“That was my intent.”

“And that’s why Tim isn’t very nice to you. If you want him to like you, you need to stop insulting him like that. When you got here Tim felt like he was being replaced, and that’s not how my family works. Tim is just as much my son as you are. I know you each became my sons in different ways, but you’re both mine and I love you equally.”

“Okay.”

“Come on, let’s go upstairs. I need to get a new shirt.”

“I am sorry.”

“There is nothing to be sorry for.” Bruce got out of the car and walked with Damian to the elevator, his arm draped over his son’s shoulder.

They went up to the penthouse using the elevator so no one would see his shirt before he changed. While upstairs, Damian changed into a pair of jeans, sneakers, and a hoody and sank into the couch with a sketchbook and set of colored pencils.

Bruce stepped out of the Master Bedroom and adjusted his tie. “Really, you’re wearing that to the office, son?”

Damian sat up and quirked an eyebrow at his father. "I was not aware you wished for me to accompany you, I assumed I was to stay here until Pennyworth could retrieve me?”

Bruce frowned. His son saw himself as an inconvenience, and just assumed Bruce would want to tuck him away somewhere out of sight until he could be 'retrieved.' What made Bruce feel worse, however, was how he had thought just a little while ago about how he didn't want to dump the child on Alfred, as if he were nothing more than an inconvenience. “No," he said, patiently, "I told him I was going to keep you for the rest of the day. You can wear that if you want, but it’s not very professional.”

The child nodded slowly and pulled the hood up over his head. "Then, I desire to remain in these clothes, if it is acceptable."

He's hiding, Bruce realized. Hiding from the outside world and using the hood to protect himself from those who might judge him. Why had he never actually noticed this about his son until today? What kind of father was he?

"Of course. Shall we?" Bruce motioned for the elevator and led Damian down to his office. On the way, multiple employees greeted the pair, and Caroline informed them that "Tim's in your office, you have a meeting in 15 minutes."

After thanking her, Bruce stepped into his office to find Tim sitting at his desk on the phone. "Look. I don't care, you don't need to speak to Bruce you're speaking to me. I told you the reports are due by close of business tomorrow and that's final. I expect to find them on this desk by then, is that understood? Good. Have a nice day!" The chipper tone Tim added to the last phrase made Bruce chuckle.

"Someone giving you a hard time?"

"Apparently taking orders from a seventeen-year-old is difficult for some people. You would think they would be used to it by now." Tim looked at Damian and grinned a devious smile. "Get expelled already, Brat?"

Great. A fight. Bruce groaned. But instead of taking the bait, Damian simply walked past the desk and sat on the ground before the glass wall that provided a magnificent view of Gotham and opened his sketchbook to a clean page.

"No." He said, his voice devoid of emotion, "Father checked me out early."

"You're a bit under dressed. Did they send you home for not wearing the uniform?"

"No, I changed upstairs."

"Oh, so you're trying to embarrass Bruce, then?"

Damian slammed his sketchbook shut and stood. Here we go, Bruce thought. "Father said I could wear this, Tim. Father? May I go get lunch in the food court?"

Tim blinked and sat there staring at Damian, his mouth half open. The younger boy paid him no attention. "Sure," Bruce replied, "do you have your credit card? Don't leave the building."

"Of course, Father. Thank you."

After the child had left the office, Bruce made a call to the head of security to let him know his young son would be wandering the building alone, and requested the division keep an eye on him and ensure he didn't leave the building or get into trouble. All without letting the boy know he was being watched, of course. Damian would never stand for such indignity, but while Robin could take care of himself, Damian Wayne shouldn't be able, and any overprotective billionaire would ask security to protect his charge, so Bruce should be no different. Plus, it did comfort him to know security was watching Damian while he was not.

"Did he just call me Tim? I didn't imagine that, right? It happened?"

Bruce smiled. "Yes."

"Why? What happened? What did you do?"

With a sigh, Bruce replied, "He is concerned you do not love him."

"What?!" Tim screeched. "The demon tries to kill me every other day, and he's worried I don't love him?"

"Tim, he is just a child."

"Yeah, but since when does he have feelings?!"

"He was raised an assassin. He wasn't allowed to have feelings. He is finally learning to recognize and deal with them, don't tease him for it. I only told you so you would understand him a bit better. I told him if he stopped calling you Drake you might be nicer to him."

"The whole trying to kill me thing is more annoying than what he calls me, Bruce."

"I know, but I'm hoping that will go away, too, as he learns to express himself through more than just rage."

"My assassin little brother just wants to be loved. Wow." Tim sighed and rubbed his face."ugh. You know, a therapist would never believe me if I explained my home life. I'd be committed for sure."

Bruce blinked. He knew Tim struggled with depression and tended to overthink things way too much. He often struggled with thoughts of inadequacy, and Damian did nothing to help, but Bruce didn't know he was considering therapy. "Dinah would, if you want someone to talk to."

"Dad I was kidding. It was a jok--" the teen froze and turned red. "I uh, ha, sorry, I'm just gonna walk away now." With an awkward smile like grimace, Tim turned on his heels and raced out of the room, all while Bruce looked after him, short circuiting.

None of his kids ever called him 'Dad.' He often wished they did, but also knew he probably didn't deserve the title. Jason would sometimes sarcastically call him 'Dad,' but the context was always more proof that Bruce did not deserve it. None of his children truly considered him their father. Except Damian, of course, but even then the child never called him 'dad,' but instead used the much more formal and cold term, 'father.' No, Bruce was a mentor, a friend, or sometimes a guardian, but never a father to them, even if he saw them all as sons. But Tim's slip of the tongue and use of the phrase 'my assassin little brother' hinted that maybe he was viewed as a father more than he thought. The grin that grew on his face was large and stupid looking, but Bruce didn't care. He couldn't stifle it if he tried, he hadn't felt this happy in a long time.

It was at that moment that Lucius decided to storm the room. Bruce was late for that meeting. Whoops. "Bruce you idiot..," he paused, "Okay. What's with the smile?"

"Nothing. Tim just made my week, that's all. I was just heading to that meeting, I swear."

"What'd Tim do to make you smile like that?" Lucius asked, his curiosity not even remotely hidden on his face.

In response, Bruce just smiled. The rest of the day went fairly quickly. Eventually Damian returned to the office to draw Gotham's skyline, and he and Tim did not speak to each other again. At about six, Bruce started packing up to leave while Damian presented his drawing to his father. With words of praise, Bruce accepted the sketch and passed it on to his secretary to have it framed and placed in his office.

On the way out, Bruce walked with his two boys. Now that Maxwell was a member of the family, and he was determined to make him a permanent member, even if CPS considered it temporary, Bruce pondered what that made Damian and Timothy. Before, they had been his youngest two sons, and he could call them such, but now he couldn't use that term. Max and Damian were the youngest two. He couldn't say middle two, either, even though publicly they were the middle two. Jason, Damian, and Tim were the middle _three_ sons, and Bruce knew how much it hurt Jason to just disregard his existence, even if the teen pretended it didn't. Tim was the very middle child, but that still didn't help with the problem of what he could call the pair.

Bruce was still mulling over his dilemma when Tim spoke up from the passenger seat. "Lucius said I made your week earlier. You weren't mad?"

That snapped Bruce out of his thoughts. "Mad? Why would I be mad?"

“It's just..." Tim looked back at Damian and then whispered, "You said you didn’t want to be my dad.”

Pain. That's what Bruce felt. Right in his heart. Again. Wow was he a terrible person. How had he managed to screw his kids up so badly? He had even called it Father/Son night, how could Tim not take the hint? "No, Tim, no. That's not at all what I meant. God, son, no." He took a deep and slow breath, then pulled the car over to the shoulder and placed it into park so he could turn and face Tim. His precious Tim, the kid that chose him as a Dad, instead of the other way around. The kid that had saved him. The kid he loved dearly. "Tim, I never meant I didn't want to be your dad. I didn't want you thinking I was trying to replace your dad, since I know you loved him. I am honored to call you my son, and I do. You are my son, whether you consider me your dad or not. When you called me 'Dad' earlier, it made me happy because it told me that you didn't just see me as a mentor. Since you're emancipated, I really wasn't sure how you viewed me, but you accidentally told me earlier and I could never be mad about that, son."

"So you are okay with being called 'Dad?'" Tim asked, his tone making him sound so much younger than the seventeen years he was.

"I am happy with whatever term you choose for me, be it 'dad' or 'Bruce' or 'old man,' as Jason says."

Tim simply nodded. After a moment, Bruce refastened his seat belt and flicked on his turn signal while he waited for an opening.

After he pulled into traffic, Damian's small voice came from the back seat. "Is 'Father' also acceptable?"

Looking in the rear view mirror, Bruce locked eyes with the young boy. "Yes, Damian. you may call me whatever you wish, I am happy with any term you choose."

The rest of the trip was made in silence. It had been a long day. A very productive day, one filled with conversations that his boys hopefully won't soon forget, but Bruce was emotionally exhausted. There was a new feeling in his chest, however. It was pleasant, and a little fluttery. He didn't have a name for the feeling, yet, but he hoped it stuck around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was actually one of the first chapters I wrote for this story, so I had to edit it quite a bit to get it to fit into the direction the story went. Pretty wild how writing does that. 
> 
> I think the next chapter is pretty fun, if I'm not getting the order mixed up in my head. So don't miss it! 
> 
> Thanks for reading. <3


	15. Uninvited Company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce was having a good day, and then he had to show up, but it's not like he ever actually invited the boy scout over, anyway. He always just appeared.

Saturday was a strange day. Tim was still at the Manor, which Bruce was not at all complaining about. The boy stumbled out of his room around noon and made himself coffee as if he still lived there. It was great. Bruce tried his best not to show how pleased he was, tried to act like it was perfectly normal. Tim belonged there, after all, he shouldn't make a big deal about it. He was afraid if he did, Tim would get embarrassed and leave. 

This was good. He now had three of the boys living at home. 

Just after lunch, however, Dick let himself in, which was odd. Dick came over infrequently, sure. Usually to see Damian, but he had just been over a few days before. He never came over twice in one week. Sometimes he'd spend a night or two, but then he'd return to Blüdhaven and not return for a while. Even Damian seemed surprised to see his older brother. Again, Bruce was not complaining. He did not bring attention to it. Simply offered the young man leftover lunch. 

What really caught Bruce off guard, however, was when the doorbell rang around 4pm. Bruce was not expecting the person Alfred welcomed into the Manor. If he were honest with himself, he wasn't expecting him ever. 

They were playing one of those games Dick had picked out so long ago. They hadn't had the opportunity to play any of them yet, since Bruce never had so many of them together at once. This was the apples game. Bruce had to admit, it was pretty amusing. 

The current round had Dick as the judge, and the category was 'patriotic.' The cards the other four had played were: 'hitting a home run,' 'superman,' 'flags,' and 'baked beans.' Bruce had played 'flags,' which seemed like a no-brainer. 

" _Baked Beans,_ seriously?" Dick asked incredulously, "Who played that? I can see these others, but how the heck are baked beans patriotic?" 

Max began laughing uncontrollably, and everyone assumed he had played the card. "Imagine a baked bean waving a flag with a little uncle sam hat on!" he giggled out. It was silly, but his laughter was infectious, and soon enough each boy was laughing. Even Damian let out a brief chuckle. The sound was something never heard in the house to this level. Sure, they had shared laughs before, but never so many of them, and never so loud. 

It took a moment for the group to quiet down, and when they did they finally noticed the man standing in the doorway. 

Jason stood there, looking at them like a deer in the headlights. He was playing with his watch, and seemed to be considering turning around and leaving. 

"Jason!" Dick shouted, as he counted out seven cards from the draw pile, "Get over here and pick a card you think is patriotic." Dick held out the stack of cards, waiting for Jason to walk over and join them.

"Yeah! Come play with us!" Max leapt up and grabbed Jason's hand to pull him toward the coffee table they were gathered around. 

Max clearly had the teen wrapped around his little finger, because Jason smiled and let the small child drag him without any protest. 

"No, you'll know which is mine. I'll jump in the next round," he said as he accepted the offered cards and plopped down on the carpet next to Max. 

Jason was clearly avoiding Bruce's gaze, so he tried his best not to stare at his son. Bruce never thought he could love a day as much as he loved Saturday, the 18th of December. All his boys were sitting around a coffee table playing a silly game that had them all in a fit of laughter. How on earth had this happened?

"Who the fuck played 'baked beans?'" Jason suddenly said. After a quick flick of his eyes toward Bruce and then Max, he added, "Sorry. I mean 'frick.'"

" _Guys_ ," Tim said, exasperated, "What is a fourth of July tradition?"

"Fireworks?" Dick asked. 

"Parades?" Damian offered.

Tim rolled his eyes. "Yes, and what else? Do people eat?"

"It's your card?" Max asked. 

"Ugh. Yes, because on Independence Day, the most patriotic day of the year, Americans everywhere have cookouts. And all cookouts have three things: hamburgers, hotdogs, and _baked beans_." 

"I'd put chips on the list before beans," Dick said. 

Tim sat back on the couch and huffed, "Whatever, you guys suck." 

"I pick 'Superman,' only because I know it will annoy Bruce," Dick said with a grin. 

"Thank you, Richard." Damian said, accepting the green card in victory. 

The knowledge that _Damian_ had played 'superman' had everyone in another fit of laughter, much to Damian's distaste. Bruce sneaked a peak at Jason and saw the teen with a smirk on his face. 

Bruce could get used to this. 

The game went on for another hour before they decided to call it quits before it turned to fighting. Damian offered to teach Max how to play chess in the den, while the others chatted for a bit. Bruce retired to his study to give them all time together without him looming over. He did take note, however, that all three older boys ended up in the den with the two youngest within half an hour. 

Bruce found himself in the kitchen chatting with Alfred, who was hard at work preparing dinner for the whole family when the doorbell rang again. Bruce arched an eyebrow at the butler when Alfred requested Bruce answer the door, as he was 'occupied at the moment' with dinner. He had an inkling suspicion that the elderly man was responsible for all the boys being under one roof and the appearance of whoever it was at the door. Bruce wracked his brain for a possible option for the guest. Selina? Barbara? Leslie? None of them really made sense. The entire family was already gathered, who else would they need for dinner?

When he opened the door, he greeted the 'guest' with a glare. "Clark. What are you doing here?"

The alien, in his true bumbling reporter identity, adjusted his glasses and grinned. "Meeting my best friend's new kid." He said it such a genuine smile Bruce wanted to gag. 

"We are not-"

"Alfred invited me for dinner," Clark interrupted. 

Bruce rolled his eyes. Of course he had, Bruce had already surmised that detail. "He shouldn’t have."

Clark frowned. "Why didn’t you tell me you got a new kid?"

"It’s none of your business"

"We were together all week last week, and I had to find out through the news like everyone else that my best friend took in a new kid back in October. How you managed to keep it out of the news this long, I have no idea. Why didn't you-"

"Clark," Bruce sighed, "he doesn’t know."

The reporter narrowed his eyes. "Doesn’t know?"

"About anything." Bruce stepped aside to allow his teammate to pass. 

Clark stepped through and shed his coat. "Why not?"

"It’s better this way." Bruce closed the door and locked it.

The look on Clark's face was as close to a glare the boy scout could manage, and Bruce hated to admit he did not like being on the receiving end of disapproval from Clark. "For who? You or him?'

He raised an eyebrow. "What?" It was better for both of them. _All_ of them this way. 

"Because I would argue neither."

"Clark don’t start with me," he sighed. 

"Are you planning on keeping him?"

Bruce nodded, already tired of the conversation.

"Then tell him." 

"No," he ground out. 

"You can’t possibly have a relationship with this child if you’re hiding yourself from him."

"It’s not like that. We already have a good relationship." 

Clark sighed and rubbed his face. "You can’t keep it secret forever. He will find out eventually, which is a lesson I thought you’ve learned twice over by now."

"We will be more careful," Bruce asserted. They would be more careful. They would be able to keep it from him. So far it had been a couple months and Max hadn't suspected anything. 

"When he finds out he will feel betrayed. You’re lying to him" 

Bruce was not lying to Max. Never once had he said 'I'm not Batman.' It wasn't lying. "He won’t find out." 

It was as if Clark wasn't even listening to Bruce's responses. The alien continued with his speech, "And the longer this goes on the harder it will be for your relationship to recover. You might lose his trust all together."

"He won’t, I won’t."

"And what about your other boys?"

"Clark this isn’t your concern." If Bruce wanted Kent's lecture, he would have told him back in October. He was already aware how the reporter felt about keeping secret identities from 'loved ones.'

"How can they truly call this kid a brother if they have to hide half of themselves?"

"Clark do you want to meet him or not?" he said impatiently. 

The reporter ran a hand through his hair and smiled, "Just give it more thought, okay?"

"Hrmph," Bruce grunted, glad the conversation was over. He turned to lead Kent to the den where the boys were.

"So where is he?" Clark asked as he got in step with Bruce.

"Playing with Damian in the den." 

"I’m sorry," Clark said, freezing in the hall, "did you just say Damian is playing?"

Bruce smirked. He wouldn't have believed it two months ago, either. "He’s teaching Max how to play chess."

"Incredible."

Bruce led his teammate toward the upstairs den where all his boys were. He realized, now, that Alfred must have invited them all because Clark was coming over, and then purposely did not tell Bruce so he could not have 'other plans' simply to avoid dinner. 

As they approached the room, Bruce could hear Max's high pitched voice screaming at Damian. “I don’t want to move him in an L! He’s a knight! He can cut your stupid rooks head off from here!”

“Knights cannot move one square at a time,” Damian shot back. 

“Like hell they can’t!" Max said, "They have horses they can do whatever they want!” Were the other boys still in there? Were they simply watching the younger two fight?

“These are the rules,” Damian said, the anger in his voice evident.

“You’re making them up! They are stupid!" Max shrieked, and Bruce was glad he wasn't sitting next to the boy. His voice could be grating.

“I am not!” Damian shouted back.

“Guys! Damian is making up dumb rules so he can win!”

“I am not!” Damian shouted again, just as Bruce and Clark reached the room. 

“Little D is telling you the real rules, Maxie," Dick offered. Bruce wasn't sure if calling either boy a cutesy nickname was going to help the situation. 

Max collapsed onto the ground in a pout. “This game is stupid! Let’s play something not stupid.”

“Chess is a good game for learning strategy and critical thinking, Maxwell.”

“I don’t want to learn I want to play,” Max said, knocking over some of the pieces on the board.

“Max,” Bruce snapped, partly to get the boys attention and partly as a reprimand for his behavior. It was unacceptable to ruin a game like that just because he was upset it wasn't going his way.

The look on the boy's face, however, made Bruce freeze and lose any spark of annoyance he had toward the child. The child paled and stared at Clark, like he was seeing a ghost, or something else equally terrifying. 

“Uh this is Clark Kent," Bruce offered, hoping to ease the child's fear, "He wanted to meet you.”

“Hi Max," Clark said with an awkward smile. The reporter looked pained.

Max's expression flickered to anger. “Why is he here?”

“He’s a friend, he came over for dinner," Bruce said, wincing slightly at Clark's stupid smile at his use of the word 'friend.'

“Bruce and I have been friends forever," Clark beamed. The freaking sap. 

“He’s practically our Uncle, Max," Dick said with a bright smile. 

“Uncle?” Max knit his brow in confusion and reached out to hold onto the coffee table he was sitting beside. 

Bruce had no idea what was going on. He couldn't tell if Max was upset, scared, or angry. Or perhaps some mix of all three. Jason, however, seemed to know exactly what was happening, because before Bruce could blink, the teen was across the room and kneeling on the ground behind the boy, turning Max toward him and away from Bruce and Clark. 

"Hey," Jason whispered, as he reached out so his hands were hovering on either side of Max. Bruce could barely make out what his second son was saying to his youngest, but he could read Jason's lips just fine. Whatever Max said in response, however, Bruce couldn't hear. "What'd I tell you? That's right. You can trust me, you're okay."

“Okay” Max said as he turned back toward the two men in the doorway. "Hi, Mr. Kent." 

Bruce frowned. “Everything alright Max?” 

“Yes sir," Max said, nodding. Any attitude he normally had completely vanished.

“Well," Bruce sighed, having no idea what was going on, "Dinner is about ready so why don’t you boys go wash up.”

Tim and Damian hopped up and left the room quickly, soon followed by Max, who stiffly passed the two men. 

“What was that?" Dick demanded.

Bruce shrugged and look toward Jason for answers. 

"Fuck you, Bruce," Jason said in response. He sighed. Why did Jason have to be like that? What had he even done today to warrant the response?

“His heart rate was going crazy," Clark said, clearly shaken up. "I didn’t mean to scare him, Bruce. I’m sorry, I should have asked you before coming over.”

“It’s not your fault, he’s never done that before," Dick said with a reassuring smile as he followed the other boys out.

Jason narrowed his eyes at Bruce. “You still think he only got knocked around?” 

“What do you mean?” Bruce demanded. Of course he didn't think that. The boy's father also neglected Max.

“B you have all the pieces, put it together. He's terrified of adult men."

Bruce glared at Jason and thought back to every interaction he'd had with Max. Other than this one exchange with Clark, he could find no evidence that Max was uncomfortable with men. “What makes you think that? He seems fine around us.”

“Yeah, he likes us, but have you noticed how he never allows himself to be alone with anyone but Damian? He likes us, but doesn’t trust us, and I don’t blame him.”

That simply wasn't true. Max spent time alone with Bruce often. It's not like Jason was around enough to see how Max behaved, anyway. “I’m alone with him all the time and he’s never even uneasy.”

“Bruce, he-“

“Jason," Bruce interrupted, "I know him and you’re wrong.”

“Fine," the teen huffed as he walked out of the room, "I hope you know what you're doing.”

Dinner began in uncomfortable silence. Usually when Clark was over, the boys had him tell them stories about what he's done lately, but that was obviously not an option with Max at the table. Jason was still pissed at Bruce, although the teen was always angry with Bruce, and the tension between them was another weight keeping the table silent. 

Clark cleared his throat and turned toward Max. “So Max, who do you like better, Superman or Batman?”

Max grinned. He always loved talking about 'superheroes.' “Batman," he said with conviction, "because he saved me.”

“Okay, before Batman saved you, was he still your favorite?” Clark prodded. 

“No," Max said, taking a bite of his pasta, "Superman has really cool powers and I heard he’s super nice.” 

Clark beamed and shot Bruce a taunting smile. “So was he your favorite superhero?”

“No," Max said, matter-of-factly, "The Flash is my favorite superhero."

Clark snorted while everyone else at the table either grinned or rolled their eyes. “Oh really?" the alien said, "You know who he should meet, Bruce?”

Bruce scowled. He knew Clark wouldn't give up their secret without his permission, but that didn't mean he was going to make it easy on Bruce. “Shut up, Clark."

Completely ignoring him, Clark continued, “Our friend Barry. They’d get along real well.”

“Don’t tell me how to raise my kid," Bruce said.

“Why would I like Barry?” Max asked boredly, uninterested in the conversation.

“He’s from Central City. You could say he’s a huge Flash fan.”

“Has he ever met the Flash?," Max asked impatiently, "Because I'm from Central City and I've never met him.”

“In a way, yes.” Clark grinned at Bruce, who continued to glare at the reporter.

Max's face lit up. “No way that’s so cool!” The child sat back and studied Clark for a moment. "Where are you from, Mr. Kent?"

"Metropolis." 

Max nodded absently before taking another bite of his food. "That's why you like Superman so much." The smirk that grew on Max's face was devious and filled Bruce with a touch of dread. Whenever he saw such a face on one of his children, he knew they were about to cause trouble. "So _that's_ why Bruce pretends not to like you." 

The entire table erupted in laughter while Bruce furrowed his brow. He didn't _pretend_ to dislike the boy scout. He liked him just fine, they just weren't as close as Clark tried to assert they were.

Clark stuck around after dinner for an hour or so, chatting with Max about all the boy's hobbies. He finally excused himself before the boys could start a movie, citing he had a family he needed to return to before it got too late. As Bruce was walking Clark out, the man turned to him and said, "That's a good kid you've got there."

Bruce nodded in agreement as he opened the door for Clark to step outside.

"Once you tell him, I'll bring Jon over to meet him and Damian. He's right between their ages, and it could do them all good to have friends who also have a dad in the League."

"Hrn," Bruce grunted. "I'm not telling him, Clark."

"When you do, I'll bring Jon. See you, Bruce."

Bruce waved and watched Clark shoot off into the sky in a streak of red. He rolled his eyes. He would be okay with introducing Jon to Damian for that exact reason, and wouldn't be against Max meeting him either, but he was _not telling Max_ , and that was final. 

As he walked back to the living room where the boys were setting up a movie, he heard Jason laugh, followed quickly by the other boys joining him. Clark was wrong. Max didn't need to know for the family to work. It was already working, and Bruce couldn't be happier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This entire chapter feels really choppy to me. It came to me strictly as dialogue, so I've been fussing with it trying to make it flow easier, but I'm not entirely pleased with the outcome. Any feedback would be appreciated. 
> 
> Thanks for reading. <3 My next couple nights are filled with Easter things, but I should have another chapter up Saturday at the latest.


	16. Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every child deals with nightmares differently. Max, apparently, would rather deal with them alone. If only Bruce knew that.

After patrol that night, Batman spent some time digging into Maxwell’s life in Central City. There wasn’t much to find. He did learn, however, that Max did indeed have an uncle there by the name of Nathaniel George, his father’s older brother. Nathaniel had been found dead in his house in April, foul play suspected. He couldn’t find much about the man beyond the fact he was dead. He had been unemployed for years, but clearly was bringing in money somehow. He reported none of it to the IRS. 

Once all his boys had turned in for the night and signed off coms, Bruce made his way up to the Manor to get some shut eye himself. He stopped outside Damian’s door to make sure the child was home as he said, and was happy to hear the boy’s deep rhythmic breaths, indicating sleep. He walked over to Max’s room, to listen for him as well, but was not as happy to hear the sounds coming from the younger child.

He was having a nightmare, that much was clear. His breaths were ragged, mixed with whimpers and cries of pain. Before thinking, Bruce swung open the door and rushed to Max’s side to wake the child. Whatever nightmare he was having, Bruce wanted it to stop. Did Max have bad dreams often? Why had he never said anything? When Dick was a child, he would always come to Bruce after a bad dream for comfort. Did Max try, but Bruce was always out on patrol, so he gave up?

The very instant Bruce’s hand touched Max’s shoulder, the boy bolted straight up and away from Bruce and his head on the headboard of his bed. The sight made Bruce’s stomach clench. His kid was terrified. Whatever his dream was about still had him in a panic mode. 

“Shhh,” Bruce tried, “Max, it’s just me.” He held his hand out to the boy, in an attempt to draw him in for a hug, but Max shied away. “It’s Bruce, buddy. You were having a bad dream.” 

Max pulled his legs in close and hugged them tight, and eyed Bruce over his knees. Bruce had never seen so much terror in the young boy’s eyes. 

Bruce pulled his hand back. “Max? Are you okay?”

His foster son squeezed his eyes shut and buried his head into his knees. “You’re in my room,” he whispered, as if that explained everything. 

The conversation he had with Max the first day he arrived came back to Bruce. He had promised not to go into the boy’s room. Could Jason have been…? 

No. No, absolutely not. He was wrong. But Max was clearly _afraid_ of having Bruce in his room, not just annoyed by it like his other kids. “I know, I’m sorry.” Bruce stood up and backed away from Max. What always cheered Dick up when he was about this age? “I think there’s some peanut butter ice cream in the fridge. Want to go to the kitchen and help me eat it?”

Max slowly peeked over his knees and eyed Bruce for a good long minute before nodding. Bruce did not wait for Max and left the room swiftly to wait for him outside the door. As the two of them walked down to the kitchen, Max almost dragged his feet. His shoulders were slumped forward, and his face held no expression at all, which let Bruce know how upset Max was. The kid was such a ball of energy and emotions, he never looked this defeated. That nightmare must have been bad.

In the kitchen, Max watched quietly as Bruce retrieved the supplies needed for the most epic sundaes he could concoct. He put a brownie at the bottom of each bowl and piled on three scoops of ice cream, chocolate syrup, m&ms, whipped cream, and finished it off with rainbow sprinkles. Alfred would be upset, no doubt, but Bruce hoped the ungodly amount of sugar would be enough of an offering to get his traumatized little boy to open up and talk. If nothing else, he really hoped the kid would at least smile.

He didn’t. Instead, the boy sat emotionless and stared at the mountain of sugar that was placed before him. Bruce had never seen such an empty gaze come from Maxwell. 

Finally, Max took the spoon Bruce held out to him and took a tiny bite of his sundae. Bruce frowned. Ice cream always worked on Dick, and Dick was really the only young child he had ever had in the Manor. God was he out of his element. 

“Want to talk about your dream?” Bruce offered, after a few minutes passed.

Max just shook his head.

“Are you okay?”

Ever so slightly, Max nodded his head. 

Bruce frowned. “Are you sure? You aren’t acting okay.”

His question was met with silence. 

“What’s wrong, Max? What’s bothering you?”

The child set his spoon in the bowl and pulled his legs up into a hug while he seemed to contemplate the question. He shook his head again after a long moment.

“Max, please, you have to tell me. I can’t help if you don’t tell me.”

“I can’t!” Max shouted, finally lifting his eyes to meet Bruce’s. 

“Why not? Who told you you can’t talk about it?”

In response, Max burst into tears, his sobs shaking his entire body as he attempted to make himself even smaller. 

Bruce leaped up and rounded the island to wrap his arm around the boy. As soon as his arm made contact, however, Maxwell froze and went rigid, a terrified whimper replacing the sobs instantly. Bruce let go and backed up. 

Shit. Shit shit shit. What can I _do_? he cried internally. 

He pulled a chair close to Max but left the child his own personal space. Placing his hands on the counter, Bruce gently said “Look at me.” When the child turned to him, he smiled softly in attempt to comfort the boy. 

Maxwell’s bright hazel eyes rose slowly to meet Bruce’s blue ones. He had never paid so close attention to the boy’s eyes, but he could see now how beautiful they were. They weren’t just one color, but were a mix of brown, gold, and green. The green was rich and bright, spiking in from the outer ring of Max’s iris. The brown color circled his pupil and was overshadowed by flecks of copper and gold. His eyes shone with unshed tears and Bruce could see the torment his thoughts were causing him. 

“Maxwell, son, I’m not going to hurt you. I will never hurt you, I promise. Tell me how I can help you.”

Nothing. No reaction. Max only blinked. 

“What the _fuck_?” The voice made Bruce jump. He didn’t know Jason was even in the Manor, much less standing in the doorway. 

Jason walked over to Max and motioned for Bruce to back up. “Hey, squirt. What’s wrong?” 

Max shook his head and started crying again. “Can I hug you?” Jason asked. When Max nodded, Jason pulled the child in and held him, rubbing his back while sobs wracked his little body. Bruce watched helplessly while Jason comforted his foster son, whispering soothing reassurances, reminding the child of his safety in the house. 

When Max finally quieted down, he pulled away from Jason and wiped his face with his pajama sleeve. “Sorry.” 

“What’d I tell you, kid?” Jason asked as he pushed Max’s sundae closer to the boy. 

“You’ll kill anyone that tries to hurt me.” Max sniffed then took a much bigger bite of his sundae. 

Bruce was horrified. Jason had promised to kill someone for Max? The look Jason was shooting Bruce could only be described as smug. 

“That’s right. That includes Bruce, okay?” 

Max shook his head. “He didn’t. I’m sorry. I can’t help it.” 

“Hey,” Jason said, putting his hand in Max’s hair, “you don’t have to be sorry. You’ll get past this, I promise.”

Max nodded and ate one last bite of his ice cream. Turning to Bruce he asked, “Can I go back to bed?” 

Bruce couldn’t find his voice to answer, and simply nodded at the child. Jason clearly knew a lot more about Max than he did. Max trusted Jason more than he trusted Bruce, as well. What was that about? Jason only spent a week with the child. 

Max hopped off his chair and left the room. There was a bit more of a spring in his step, less misery in the way he held himself. Bruce had never been more grateful to Jason as he was in that moment. 

“What the fuck, Bruce,” Jason said.

“I don’t know what happened.”

Jason crossed his arms and glared at the older man. “Let me guess, he had a nightmare and you went to wake him up?”

Bruce nodded.

“And when you did, he flipped his shit.” 

Pretty much, that’s exactly what happened. “Were you watching?”

“No, Bruce, because you could have fucking predicated that response.”

Bruce sighed and took a seat at the kitchen island. “How? None of you guys have ever reacted that way when I woke you from a nightmare.” He placed his head in his hands. Each of his children were so different from each other. Dick would insist on sleeping with Bruce after a nightmare. Jason usually just wanted to be read back to sleep. Tim was content with a few comforting words, and Damian. Well, Bruce had no experience with Damian’s nightmares. He wasn’t sure if the boy even had nightmares. Apparently, Max wanted Jason to comfort him.

“Bruce,” Jason sighed as he took a seat across from him, “Max doesn’t have the same nightmares as us. We all dream about losing people we love and being alone. When we wake up and you are there, it is an instant relief and reminder we are not alone. Max is dreaming that someone is in his room hurting him.” 

Bruce could feel the tears well into his eyes. How did he not see this? 

“And when he wakes up and finds himself alone, it’s a relief to him. It reminds him that it was only a dream. But tonight-“

Bruce nodded and interrupted, “tonight I was there and he thought his dream was real. Oh God, Jason.” Bruce wasn’t sure when the last time he cried was. It was not a good feeling. His head hurt, his eyes burned, his nose was running, and he couldn’t control the stream of tears escaping his eyes. He put his head down on the counter and gave himself a minute to let it out before shutting it all down. 

When he sat back up, Jason was looking off to the side, examining the fridge and avoiding eye contact. 

He wiped his eyes and then blew his nose with a napkin from the center of the island. He wanted to feel embarrassed for crying in front of one of his kids, but was too distraught to care. He finally asked, “How did you know?”

Jason scowled and returned his attention to his adoptive dad. “He fucking told me, Bruce. I took the time to sit with him and listen, and amazingly, when you do that, people talk.” 

“I’m sorry, Jay.” 

“It’s Max you should apologize to. Tomorrow.” 

“No. I mean, yes, I know, but I should have listened to you. You tried to tell me and I brushed you off. I’m sorry.” 

Jason rolled his eyes. “Whatever. I don’t expect you to trust me, anyway.”

Ouch. 

“I do trust you, Jay.”

Jason stood. “No, you don’t. If you did, you wouldn’t question everything I do. You wouldn’t doubt my loyalty, and you wouldn’t worry about whether I’m following your rules every time I pull the trigger.” 

Bruce closed his eyes. He didn’t want to get into a debate about the morality of killing. He wasn’t really interested in ever getting back into it. Jason hadn’t killed in quite a while. Bruce knew the teen was trying, just as Damian had worked on controlling his own training and urges to take lives. Bruce knew he could trust Jason. He just needed to show it. 

“I’m sorry, Jay. You’re my son and I should treat you better. I-,“ Bruce’s breath hitched. He didn’t have as tight control over his emotions as he thought, “I’m going to be better. I promise.” 

His second oldest rolled his eyes again and looked away. Bruce recognized the body language from when he was a young teen, trying his best to appear macho when struggling to keep from crying. He stood and walked over to his son and pulled him into a hug. When was the last time he had even hugged Jason?

It was when he was dead. 

The thought caused Bruce to tighten his grip.

Jason tensed, before relaxing in Bruce’s hold. The teen uncrossed his arms and half returned the hug.

“I’m sorry,” Bruce whispered again as he fought to keep his emotions in check. The night's events had him raw. He was a horrible father.

“Shut up,” Jason croaked. Bruce waited for Jason to pull away before letting go. His son rubbed at his eyes and turned to leave the room. “You’re an asshole. I’m going to bed.” 

Before Bruce could respond, Jason left the room and turned toward the stairs. The ones leading to the guest rooms upstairs, where Jason was apparently going to sleep. 

He rubbed his face. It had been such a long fucking day. First thing on the agenda for tomorrow was get Max a psychiatrist. He wondered if Dinah Lance would be willing to talk with Max. He could certainly trust the woman. She didn’t know his secret identity, but Bruce wasn’t against telling her. Especially if it meant getting Max help. 

Bruce made his way down to the cave to send her a message through the League communication system. He explained in his email that he had a son who needed to speak to someone about trauma he had experienced and if she was willing, he would like her to speak to the boy. He left it vague enough so if she declined, he wouldn’t have given away his identity for nothing, but still kept enough details in so she would know what she was getting herself into. 

The response came much quicker than he was expecting. Within five minutes, she responded ‘Of course. Is it Robin?’ It wasn’t exactly a secret among the league that Robin was his son. The boy had slipped up and called him ‘Father’ enough times as it was, but many members were still unsure what their relationship was. 

Bruce gave her his cell number to call in response. When it rang a minute later, he answered in his normal voice, “Bruce Wayne.”

The silence that followed wasn’t unexpected, the amusement in her voice, however, was. “ _Really?_ ” 

“I trust this is between us,” he said with as much of a smile as he could muster.

_”Of course, Bruce. What’s wrong with Robin?”_

Bruce sighed. “You’re lucky this line is secure. It’s not Robin. I have five kids, Robin is the second youngest. I’m contacting you about my youngest.”

Dinah laughed. _"I guess I should have remembered that when you answered the call ‘Bruce Wayne.’ Bruce Wayne: collector of orphans. Okay, what’s the issue?”_

“Max was horribly abused before coming into my care. I think he’s suffered every kind of abuse there is, but I don’t know for sure because he won’t open up to me.” 

_”Okay. Do you want to meet on the watchtower tomorrow? I don’t normally work Sundays, so my schedule is clear except for my two hour block of monitor duty.”_

“That’s another thing. He doesn’t know about Batman, so I can’t bring him to the watchtower. Can you come to the Manor? I’ll give you access to the cave so you can teleport here after your shift.” 

_”Wow, Batman. I have misjudged you. Giving up your ID and offering direct access to your secret cave for your kid? I guess you do have a heart, after all."_ Bruce could hear the smile in her voice. _"Tomorrow at 2, then?”_

“Yes, thank you, Dinah.” Bruce hung up and stared up at the batcomputer. 

Max’s uncle was dead. Was he the man responsible for the abuse? Or was it someone else, like the boy’s father? How could someone do that to his own son? Or nephew? Who killed the uncle and why? Bruce spent the rest of the night trying to answer these questions, to no avail. The only information he learned was Michael George, Max’s father, was the prime suspect in his brother’s murder. 

He wondered if he would ever get answers to his questions. Bruce looked at the clock and realized it was nearing 6am. He went upstairs to get a couple hours of sleep before breakfast. He had another long day ahead of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I honestly don't know much about Dinah. I only read the batman and superman comics from DC. My knowledge of her is from Young Justice and some fanfics. She's in Smallville, I think, too. And Arrow, of course. But I've never paid attention to her. So if she's OOC, sorry about that. 
> 
> Sorry about the heavy chapter. I don't like trigger warnings because spoilers, but I promise it never gets more detailed than this chapter. There's some cute scenes coming up. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	17. Therapy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce is emotionally constipated and Dinah isn't having anything of it.

Bruce was nervous for Dinah’s visit. No one in the family had ever needed therapy. Well. Okay. So that’s the wrong word. They all probably _needed_ therapy. None of them had ever had it, though. 

Something about psychiatrists made Bruce nervous. She was going to judge them. Her, a league member. She was about to learn far more about Bruce and his personal life than anyone else on the team knew. Anyone except Clark, of course, and what if she told? What if it changed her opinion on him? They were going to find out how terrible a person he was. What if they all decided he wasn’t fit to lead anymore? 

Okay, okay. He was being ridiculous. Anxiety was not his friend and it was causing his thoughts to go to worst-case scenario. It would be fine. It was for Max, and the poor child needed this.

When Bruce told Max of his appointment, the boy had gotten angry. He absolutely did not want to talk to anyone about anything. Maxwell’s foul mood spread to everyone in the Manor. Jason went home fairly quickly after waking up, and Tim and Damian made themselves scarce for the entire day. Dick had gone back to his place after patrol, instead of returning to the Manor in the first place. That just left Max and Bruce for most the day. 

And Max did not want to speak to Bruce. 

So, Bruce didn’t see any of his children after breakfast. Max hiding in the library made it easy for Bruce to sneak Dinah into the house from the cave when she finally arrived. 

Bruce nodded in greeting when Black Canary stepped off the Zeta. He was wearing casual clothing, something he was never caught dead wearing in public, and it was clear Dinah was taken aback. 

“Bruce,” she said, almost like she was in shock. Bruce simply smiled in return. He was glad he didn’t even have to go through the ‘Mr. Wayne,’ ‘oh no please call me Bruce’ spiel with her. 

“Max is upstairs,” he replied, motioning for the elevator, “but uniforms aren’t allowed upstairs. If you don’t have a change, there are some clothes in the drawers over there that should fit you.” 

Dinah smiled and lifted the bag she had slung over her shoulder. “I have to admit, I never expected this from you.”

“Hm. What’s that?”

“Being a real person. Where can I change?”

Bruce hummed in amusement, then pointed toward the locker room. 

By the time they arrived to Bruce’s study, he had filled Dinah in on everything he knew about Max, including the fact he did not want to speak with her. 

“Therapy only works if the patient wants it to,” Dinah said in warning as they walked toward the library. 

Of course, Bruce knew that. He was just hoping Max would want it. Maybe once he met Dinah and started chatting with her he’d realize that it could help him. Based on his admission the night before that he ‘couldn’t help’ his panicking, it seemed he was aware his fear was misplaced. Hopefully Dinah could help him with that, teach him how to get beyond it. Bruce just wanted Max to be happy. Consistently happy, and not worried or scared at all in the Manor. 

They found Max putting together a puzzle on the floor of the library. When Bruce had purchased it, he thought it seemed a little difficult for a seven-year-old, but Max seemed to love puzzles and usually put together a 1500 piece in only one or two sittings. It was impressive. This particular puzzle was a scene from a movie Bruce recognized as one of those Pixar ones Dick loved as a kid. 

“I’m not talking to her,” Max said without looking up. He had the edge of the puzzle done and was sitting in front of five different piles of center pieces.

Bruce nodded. “That’s Max. Max, this is Dinah Lance.” 

“Hi, Max. It’s nice to meet you.” Dinah smiled sweetly, seemingly unaffected by Max’s attitude. 

Max continued sorting through his puzzle pieces. He pulled a piece out of the box and placed it in a pile of green. “Go away.” 

“Maxwell,” Bruce snapped. 

The kid flinched slightly, then scowled. He put another piece in a pile of blue and purple. 

Dinah shot Bruce a look of disappointment. He could practically hear her saying ‘make him scared and I’ll kill you.’ “You don’t have to talk to me, sweetie. Can I help you with your puzzle? I love Monster’s Inc.” 

Max cut his eyes up at Dinah briefly, then nodded. The anger in his posture was lessening. He handed her the lid of the box filled with half the pieces so she could help sort by color. 

She smiled and sat on the floor across from him. “Your dad is going to leave us for a while. Is that okay?”

Confusion flickered across Max’s face as he looked between Dinah and Bruce. “Bruce isn’t my dad. But yeah, he can leave. I don’t care.” 

Bruce nodded and turned to leave. “Okay. I’ll be in my study if you need me.” Max didn’t even acknowledge he had said anything. Bruce wasn’t sure he had ever seen the kid so pissed at him. 

\----

An hour and a half. That’s how long Dinah spent with Max in the library. When she finally came to his study to chat with Bruce, he had been debating checking on them himself. 

“That took a while,” he observed, pretending to read over some paperwork. He honestly hadn’t gotten anything done during Max’s appointment. He spent the entire time worried about what was going on in the library. 

“We had to finish the puzzle,” she said with a strained smile. 

“Right, of course.” Bruce sighed and put the papers down. “What did he tell you?”

Dinah frowned and sat in the chair opposite him. “I won’t tell you everything he says, Bruce. He has to trust me, and he won’t if I go repeating his every word to you.” 

“How can I know how to help him if I don’t know what’s wrong?”

“I will tell you how to help him. You have to trust me, too. We didn’t talk about anything of substance today, anyway. It will take a few sessions to build trust enough for us to chat about his past. You will have to be patient.” 

Bruce nodded. He could be patient. Obviously, he knew Max couldn’t be fixed in an afternoon, he had just hoped it might have helped even a little. 

“One thing I did notice, however, is his insecurity about his place in this family.” 

“What?” Bruce furrowed his brows. What on earth did that mean? How was he insecure about that?

“He seems to think he is temporary, like you’re just watching him. Babysitting, almost. He views himself as an outsider to the family. He kept saying things like “his family” and “their dad,” or “his brother” when referring to various members. He never once said “my” or “our” anything. He doesn’t even see this house as his, but rather yours.” 

That’s not something Bruce ever noticed. _”Dami, your dad is home.”_ , Max had said. Not ‘Bruce is home,’ but _your dad,_ as if he were staying over at a friend’s house and talking about the friend’s parent. 

“How do I even fix that? He’s been here a couple months now. I thought he had integrated into the family quite well.”

“Have you ever told him he’s part of the family?”

“I-“ Bruce paused, thinking. Maybe he hadn’t? But he certainly treated Max as part of the family. He gave him as much attention as his other two youngest sons, and even referred to him as ‘son’ a few times. Although that could have been written off as a term of endearment by the boy, instead of a reflection of their relationship. “I guess I haven’t said it, but I treat him the same as my other sons.” 

“Children need to hear these things, Bruce. They aren’t as good at understanding what actions mean as adults are. If you don’t explicitly tell him you love him he won’t know.” 

Bruce took in a sharp breath. That was why Damian seemed shocked to learn Bruce loved him. 

Dinah narrowed her eyes. “Bruce. How often _do_ you tell your kids you love them?”

Could she really read him that easily? They had just met! Well, as Bruce and Dinah at least. They had known each other as Batman and Black Canary for years. 

He shook his head and shrugged in response. He really didn’t know the answer to that. Not enough, apparently?

“Okay. When was the last time you even said ‘I love you’ to one of your boys?”

“Friday,” Bruce said with confidence. He told Damian it twice on Friday. 

“And when was the time before that?”

Silence was all Bruce could respond with. He had no idea. He went through each of his kids, trying to dredge up memories of saying that to each of them. There were a few times he could recall telling Dick. Once or twice to Jason. Never to Tim? Really? And he had never told Damian before Friday. Never to Max, either. 

Did he even love Max? He certainly felt affection for the boy. He cared about him deeply. Was it okay to tell a child ‘I love you’ when unsure whether it was true? Was it a lie, though? Bruce couldn’t honestly say he didn’t love Max. 

“Bruce Wayne,” she admonished. “I can’t believe this. Actually, I can. This is so Batman of you.”

His cheeks flushed. Why on earth did he care so much what she thought of him? 

“Okay. So, here’s the deal. I will keep seeing Max every other week until we determine he doesn’t need to see me anymore, which means I’ll be back during the first week of January. We can figure out a schedule later. You, mister, have homework for the interim.” 

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Homework?”

She grinned, “Yes. From now until we next meet, you will tell each of your boys you love them.”

“I can do that,” he said with a frown and a nod. He could, couldn’t he?

“Daily.” 

“What?” he shot, his mouth agape. “Don’t you think that’s a bit excessive?”

“No, Bruce, I don’t. Children need to hear that they are loved. Especially young children. They have to hear it. They are too young to just know without ever being verbally reassured. You need to be telling at least the younger two every single day that you love them. When you leave for work, or drop them off at school, or whatever, say ‘have a nice day, son, I love you!’ When you tuck them in say ‘Good night, I love you.’”

“Damian is far too old to be tucked in.” And Max hates it, he added silently.

“He is twelve, right? You should at least be wishing him good night. Does the middle one live with you?”

“Sometimes.”

“When any of your boys are spending the night in your house, wish them good night and tell them you love them. When you are talking on the phone with them, end the call with ‘I love you, bye.’ I want you saying this phrase so often it no longer feels awkward saying. I want it to be a natural phrase you freely give, not something so coveted that your children cry when they hear it. Am I understood?”

How did she know they _cried_ when he said it? Why hadn’t he realized how fucked up it was that they did? 

“Dinah, I can’t-“

“Stop. Yes, you can. You can and you will. I want to see you again in January, and I want you to have a count of the number of times you said the phrase to each boy. That’s an order.”

Bruce groaned. This was going to be grueling. The boys might appreciate it the first time he said it. Maybe. Well Dick probably would. Maybe Max. Jason definitely wouldn’t. But after the first couple times, it will just be embarrassing for both him and whichever son it is. Within a week he'll be the laughing stock of his family. They'll probably tell their friends, too, and since all of them are friends with the kids and protégé of league members, the league will know too. Everyone will be laughing at him by the time the holidays are over. Fan-fucking-tastic.

“Fine.” 

“Good,” she smiled. “Now, I think I should be leaving. I will see you in January.” 

Standing, Bruce nodded and made his way to the clock that hid the entrance to the cave. He led her back down to the Zetas and wished her goodbye. 

He lingered in the cave for a while once she had left, unsure what to do next. It was going to be difficult to do his ‘homework.’ If he were to accomplish the goal of expressing his affection for his sons _daily_ , he had a lot of work to do on himself. A lot of talking himself up needed to be done, and he wasn’t sure if he would be able to force the words out at all unprovoked.

Hopefully she was right. Once he started, it would become natural. Easy. He sure hoped so. Otherwise he was just going to become anxiety ridden every time he saw his boys, and that probably was worse for them than having a dad they weren’t sure loved them. He rubbed his face and climbed the stairs to the Manor. He might as well get started. Avoiding the family wasn’t going to help one bit.


	18. What a Boy Needs to Hear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinah was right, children probably did need to hear those little three words often. If he were pressed, he might admit it's nice to hear them in return, too.

After dinner, Bruce spent a couple hours reading over reports for Wayne Enterprises, in an attempt to get all his work out of the way so he could have a nice peaceful week off for Christmas. It was nearing 9pm, Max’s bedtime, and Bruce was growing more anxious by the second.

He had asked the child to come to the study after he got ready for bed so they could chat for a few minutes. Ordinarily, he would have just knocked on one of his kid’s doors and spoken to them that way, but Bruce knew better than to break his promise to Max two nights in a row. In fact, he was never going to break that promise ever again. Maxwell’s bedroom was his safe-space, his sanctuary, and it would remain that way.

Ever since Dinah left earlier that day, Bruce had been thinking about Max’s future with the family. He wanted the arrangement to be permanent, for Max to finish out his childhood living with Bruce and his kids. He wanted to be the family Max visited long after reaching adulthood. The one to attend his college graduation. His wedding. The grandfather to his children. The more he thought about the future, the less he could see of a future without Max. He was already a part of their family, and ripping him away now, or in a few months, or a year, would be devastating.

Max was right, though, in his take on his living arrangement. He was temporary. He was a foster child, temporarily placed with Bruce Wayne. His social worker seemed happy with the placement, every home visit she had made since Max moved in had been positive. Bruce had received nothing but praise from the woman, and Ms. Evans said she had no intention of moving Max.

But what if? What if the courts decide to move Max? What if someone higher up in CPS moves him? What if something happens to Tracy Evans and Maxwell’s new social worker decides he or she doesn’t like placing small children with single men? Max’s placement was too fragile, too temporary, and Bruce needed to fix it.

When Max sauntered into the study a quarter past 9, Bruce wanted to be angry. He wanted to lecture the child about bedtimes and doing as he’s told, but he couldn’t.

He couldn’t, because Max walked in looking too cute.

Bruce had to blink at his thought. Who was he kidding? If he could possibly look at a child and think ‘he’s too cute to be mad at,’ there was no way he didn’t love him. It was true, too. Max was pretty adorable. He was wearing Batman themed pajamas and was carrying the stuffed bear, which he had dubbed ‘Superbear,’ he occasionally toted around when feeling anxious.

“Hey pal,” Bruce said, gesturing for the armchair across from him, “come sit. I wanted to talk with you for a few minutes.”

“I’m sorry I was mean to Dinah,” Max said as he made his way to the offered chair.

Bruce nodded, accepting the apology. “I understand you were upset, but I would prefer you be polite to guests in the house. That’s not what I wanted to talk about, though.”

When Max didn’t respond, Bruce continued, “How are you liking it here?”

Max clutched Superbear close and answered, “It’s good.”

“Are you happy living with me? Do you like the family?”

The child nodded, but his face did not reflect happy thoughts. He looked sad, disappointed, and a little scared.

Bruce leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “What’s wrong?”

Max took a deep, shaky breath before saying, “Please don’t send me away.”

“Oh, no. No, Max, that’s not what I was getting at,” Bruce leaned in a little further and relaxed his face in an attempt to look gentle. “I want you here. In fact, I have been researching adoption so you can stay forever.”

Tear filled hazel eyes snapped up and locked onto Bruce’s. “You want to adopt me?” he asked, a hint of hope in his voice.

Bruce grinned. “I do, but only if you want me to. If you don’t like it here, then-“

“I do!” Max said quickly, a smile forming on his face.

“It’s going to be a little difficult, I’ll warn you now. You aren’t an orphan, so your dad has the final say. My lawyer will have to meet with Michael George and have him sign off on the adoption.”

“Even though he tried to sell me?” Max asked, incredulously.

With a frown, Bruce said “Unless the court revokes his parental rights, you aren’t up for adoption and any petition for adoption has to be approved by him.”

“What if he says no? Will they make me live with him again?”

“Michael isn’t getting out of jail any time soon, son. He committed this new crime while on parole, so he’s back to serving out the rest of his original sentence. Then he’ll have to serve whatever new sentence he’s earned. He won’t get out of jail before you’re 18. Besides, there is no way CPS would ever place you back in his custody.”

Max nodded and sank down into his chair. “Oh. I guess that makes sense.”

“And if he says no, then you’ll still continue to live here as my foster son, and the day you turn 18 I’ll adopt you. You’ll be old enough to sign the papers yourself, then. That’s how I adopted Dick.”

“So, what you’re saying is I’ll live with you for the rest of my childhood, no matter what?” His smile was slowly returning.

Bruce sat back and smiled warmly. “That’s what I want.” He didn’t have the heart to tell Max that Social Services could remove him at any moment, unless the adoption goes through. That was a bridge they could cross if they got to it, and Bruce would do everything in his power to destroy the bridge to avoid needing to cross it.

“I’d like that,” he said, his grin bright.

“Okay. I’ll have my lawyer work on the paperwork after the holidays. Sound good?” It was urgent, yes, but it was Christmas. He couldn’t possibly ask any of his employees to work over Christmas.

“Yes!” Max said, jumping up.

“Okay. Off to bed with you.” Bruce’s breath caught. Now he had to say it.

“Night, Bruce.”

“Good night, Maxwell,” he hesitated. He was such a coward. With a grimace–boy was he glad Max was behind him now and couldn’t see his face–he added, “I love you.”

He heard Max freeze in his trek out of the room. He took a peek at the child, hoping to gauge his reaction. Max was staring at him, no emotion on his face. Bruce felt his cheeks flush. Maybe he shouldn’t have said it? Was it too early? Did he just scare Max? Should he take it back? Explain himself? Taking it back would be bad, right?

Before Bruce could react, Max ran across the room and threw his arms around his neck. The child removed himself so quickly, though, Bruce didn’t have time to return the hug after his shock rubbed off. He was still sitting there, staring at the door, when Max raced off to bed.

Something stirred deep inside his chest. It was warm and fuzzy, and Bruce couldn’t help but smile. He was so glad that kid was in his life.

\----

At 10, just before patrol, Bruce decided to give Dick a quick call. He needed to invite his eldest son over for Christmas and knew that the man was just between his shift and patrol.

It only took two rings for Dick to answer. _“Hey, B. Everything okay?”_

There he was again, expecting something to be wrong. “Yes. I just wanted to invite you over for Christmas. I didn’t get the chance the other day.”

_“Of course I’m coming for Christmas, you didn’t even have to ask. I managed to snag Wednesday through Sunday off, so I’ll be there most of that time.”_

Bruce smiled so that his pleasure could be heard over the phone. “Good, that’s good. I’m taking the week off, as well. It’ll be nice to have everyone under one roof for at least a few days.”

Dick laughed. _”You really think you can convince Jason to come over?”_

“Well, I don’t know. I’ll try.”

_"Good luck with that."_

“Thanks. I’ll see you Wednesday, then?”

_“Yep, sure will. Talk to you later.”_

Bruce took a deep breath. “Sure will. I love you.”

The sound of Dick’s quiet laugher startled Bruce. _“What was that for?”_

“What?” Bruce asked, feigning ignorance. He wasn’t going to explain himself.

“ _I love you, too, old man. I’ll see you Wednesday._ ”

Bruce set his cell phone down on his desk and ran his hands through his hair. He had to admit, it _was_ a phrase nice to hear.

\----

Patrol that night was nothing but routine. There was plenty of crime to stop, but nothing of interest. With all five of them out, they easily handled the typical string of attempted robberies, muggings, rapes, and various petty crimes.

Batman allowed Robin to stay out late since he had no school the following day, but once it reached 2am, he put his foot down and drove the boy back to the cave.

It had been a good night. Robin had sustained no injuries, save a couple bruises, and had handled himself marvelously in the field. He had been tired, though, and Bruce could tell. The way Damian moved his head just slightly slower than normal. How he slouched just a touch more. Hesitated before answering questions. Didn’t react to Red Robin’s jabs over the coms. All were signs that his son was exhausted and needed to go home for the night.

That didn’t stop him from putting up a fuss.

“Father. It is not a school night, I do not need to go to bed so early. I am not a child who needs a bedtime,” he said as they drove through the tunnels leading to the cave. He had his arms crossed and was pouting. _Pouting._. He was definitely ‘not a child.’

If Bruce didn’t have the cowl on, he would have found it a lot more difficult to suppress his smile. It was much easier to appear indifferent while in the Batman persona.

“You are not used to being up so late, and you’re tired. It’s time to call it a night.” They reached the final turn in the tunnels and Bruce slowed a bit as they approached the cave.

“Father, no one else is turning in, why must I? What if something happens and you need me?”

He parked the Batmobile and pressed the button to open the hatches. “If we need you, I’ll wake you.” He pulled off his cowl as soon as he hopped out of the car. Robin followed a minute later, still pouting.

Robin stormed off to the lockers and changed into sweats, all while angrily slamming doors and drawers. It was all Bruce could do to ignore his little tantrum while he typed up a quick report of the night. Damian finally emerged, a mixture of anger and exhaustion evident on his face.

“Damian,” Bruce said curtly as the child passed by him and toward the stairs.

His son spun on his heels and glared at him. “What?”

“You aren’t being punished. You did well tonight. Go get some sleep so you’ll be rested enough to patrol again tomorrow night.”

Damian narrowed his eyes in suspicion, then huffed a “tt” before turning back around and continuing his way to the stairs.

“Good night, son. I love you,” Bruce said quickly as he continued typing on the computer.

Damian froze, one foot on a stair, the other on the ground of the cave. “What?” he asked, his voice lacking the sting of anger it had possessed just a moment before.

Bruce raised an eyebrow at the boy. He knew Damian heard him. “Sleep well. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Good night, Father,” Damian finally said after a moment of silence. He continued his ascent of the stairs, this time much calmer.

Any hint of anger had dissipated from Damian upon being reminded he was loved. The child had been thinking he was being punished, despite Bruce’s insistence that he was not. He thought Bruce was disappointed in him and tossing him aside because he was unable to perform well while tired. Bruce made a mental note to always, always reassure Damian when cutting his patrol short. Maybe this would finally help him get it into Damian’s thick skull that his wellbeing was more important than patrol. Maybe the child would stop pushing himself to the extreme to prove himself, if he just heard each night that he had been enough.

“ _Hood to Cave,_ ” the com channel rang. Bruce took a deep breath. That would be Jason signing out for the night. That was usually the only reason he called in. This was the one he was the most apprehensive about.

“Go ahead.”

_“RR is heading to your location, I’m signing off.”_

Made sense. It was a little early for them all to call it a night, but it had been slow. Tim and Jason had been patrolling together, and if Tim had decided to call it a night, it made sense that Jason did, too.

“Acknowledged,” he said before pressing a button on the computer, which switched the frequency so only Jason could hear him, “have a good night, Hood. I-“

He realized he was shaking. There was sweat on his forehead and he felt a little light headed. Just fucking say it. He’d done it twice already, he couldn’t chicken out now.

“I love you.” Somehow, he had managed to keep the distress he was feeling out of his voice. He sank down into the chair and cringed, waiting for Jason’s response.

After what felt like an eternity had passed, Bruce began to wonder if Jason had cut his coms before he even acknowledged his message, but then Hood’s voice came over the speaker again. _“What the fuck. Are you dying?”_

“What?”

 _“Drugged? Was it Ivey? Or is this some weird new fear toxin? What the fuck, B.”_ Bruce could hear the anger rise in Jason with every word. He had pissed him off. Of course.

“No, nothing like that. I’m fine.”

 _“Then what the fuck!”_ Jason shouted.

“I just wanted to make sure you knew. I’m sorry.” Bruce rubbed his face and rested his head in his hands, waiting for the reply.

 _“Fuck off,”_ Jason finally said, followed by what sounded like his helmet being thrown to the ground.

Bruce sighed and cut the channel to Jason. That one had not gone well, but it was Jason. He didn’t expect Jason to react well to anything he said, but whenever Bruce said something about Jay being his son, Jason always got defensive and pissed off. Of course he was expecting this reaction. He rubbed his face again. He should ask Dinah what to do. She’ll probably tell him to just keep saying it, though, until Jason believes it.

He sat back up and returned to his reports when he heard the sound of Red Robin’s motorcycle entering the tunnel system. It would take him a couple minutes to arrive in the cave proper.

Just as the motorcycle came to a stop, Bruce was finishing off the last of his report.

“Hey, B,” Tim said, “Jason wanted to turn in early so we called it quits.” He made his way over to the computer and stood behind Bruce’s chair, leaning on the back of it and resting his head on his folded arms.

Bruce nodded as he saved the report and pulled up on a scan he had running. “How was your night?” he asked, looking at Tim in his reflection on the screen.

“Boring.”

He hummed. “Boring is good.”

Tim sighed and put more of his weight on the chair back, causing it to swivel slightly. “I suppose,” he said, dramatically. Bruce watched in amusement as he hopped up and went to the lockers to shower and change.

When Tim returned, he was wearing a pair of pajama bottoms and a Superman t-shirt. “Really, Tim? In the cave?”

His son grinned and hopped up on the desk beside Bruce to sit crossed legged. “I knew you’d like it.”

Bruce shook his head, in attempted annoyance, but he couldn’t suppress his smile. “Do you need to write a report?”

“Yeah. Are you going back out tonight?”

“No,” he said, standing, “I’m going to shower and change, you can use the computer.”

“Sure.” Tim hopped down to take the chair Bruce had just vacated and started typing furiously at the keyboard. He loved seeing Tim like this: in his element. The quiet determination that took over his face was incredible to see. Tim never looked more alive than he did while focused on a task he found worthy enough of his attention, and there was nothing worthier to the boy than being Robin.

A fond smile overtook his face as he walked toward the showers. He had been smiling a lot in recent months. Real smiles, not the fake playboy smiles he plastered on for the public. It was... nice. Being happy.

Tim was almost done with his report when Bruce returned, squeaky clean and dressed for bed. He leaned back against the desk near Tim to watch him finish. It looked like Tim had written five thousand words about the night. Bruce could be detailed and long winded, but he was never _that_ detailed. “I thought you said it was a boring night.”

“It was.”

“Why the ten-page essay?”

“I’m trying to connect together crime in the city to see if there are any patterns. The more detailed my reports, the easier it is to look back and make those connections. Gangs don’t just pop up out of nowhere, those leaders start some place, and if we can find the pattern and stop criminals from becoming leaders in the first place, we can prevent a whole lot of crime and death.”

Bruce nodded. It was an interesting concept, although he had his doubts that every little mugging was the potential start for a gang. “Are you taking the week off from WE?” he asked, changing the subject.

Tim shifted uncomfortably. “Uh. I’ll probably take Friday. I might go in for a couple hours, but not long. Half the day, at most.”

“I wish you’d take the whole week off, Tim,” Bruce said, frowning. “I’m taking the week.”

“Bruce,” he whined jokingly, “okay I’ll take all of Friday off, and part of Thursday.”

“Tim.”

“What?” he said, turning his chair so he was facing Bruce directly. “There’s a lot to do.”

Bruce crossed his arms and gave Tim the ‘dad glare,’ as Dick had dubbed it. “It’s Christmas.”

“Technically, Christmas is on Saturday.”

“It would be nice to have you at home the whole week. It’s good to take breaks, sometimes.”

Tim sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Fine. But I really do have an important meeting later today. I can cancel the rest of my week, though.”

“Thank you.” Bruce rubbed at his face and stood up. “I should get some rest. I have a feeling Max and Damian won’t let me sleep in very late. Make sure you get some sleep, too. You can’t survive off coffee alone.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say, _Dad_.”

Bruce grinned and walked toward the stairs before pausing. “Tim?”

“Yeah?”

The anxiety hit him again, causing his chest to tingle a bit while his stomach did a flip. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard, to clear the feeling away. “I love you, son.”

Tim smiled warmly, one of his rare smiles that was reflected brightly in his eyes. “I love you, too.”

The feeling was back. Warm and tingly, and engulfing more of his body this time. He resisted the urge to whistle as he went up the stairs and toward his room. He could certainly get used to this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was so fun to write. I love scenes like these. 
> 
> Thank you so much for all your comments. I seriously get so excited when I see there's a new comment, it's such an encouragement. <3


	19. Knowing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Knowing something isn't the same thing as being told.

Bruce could not sleep. His mind would not shut up long enough for him to even doze off. He lay in bed for hours, replaying the events of the past few days. 

_He seems to think he is temporary, like you’re just watching him._

Now that Bruce told the child his intentions, that wasn’t the case anymore right? Max knew now that Bruce considered him a son, and wanted to make it official. The child was aware he would have a spot in his home for the rest of his life. Why was Bruce still bothered by it?

_You can’t possibly have a relationship with this child if you’re hiding yourself from him._

But Bruce wasn’t hiding himself. Not really. Batman was just something he did. It was like a hobby. It was… who was he kidding? He was Batman. Sure, neither Batman nor ‘Brucie Wayne was his entire self, but both personas held a sliver of who he was. And sure, the Bruce Wayne he projected to his kids at home was different from either Brucie or Batman, but without sharing the fact that he was Batman, he was unable to share a significate portion of his moral character. 

_When he finds out he will feel betrayed. You’re lying to him._

He was lying, wasn’t he? Even if he never said “I’m not Batman,” he did lie to the kid. Constantly. Whenever he pretended to not know things about superheros. And Maxwell adored the Justice League. Its members were his heros, he idolized them. The topic came up. A lot.

_He likes us, but doesn’t trust us._

Max’s trust in Bruce was so fragile it barely existed. He had proven that the other night when he freaked out, hadn’t he? When he refused to tell Bruce what was wrong, despite having told Jason already. 

_He views himself as an outsider to the family._

He was an outsider. Bruce was keeping him as an outsider by not telling him. Everyone was right. He had made the wrong decision. 

_You might lose his trust all together._

That was something he’d have to risk, wasn’t it?

When the clock said 7am, Bruce got up and went to the dinning room for breakfast. As soon as Maxwell woke up, he was going to tell him. Well. Maybe he’d let the kid eat breakfast first. 

But then Damian would be up, too, and Tim. He should let the boys enjoy a morning together. After lunch for sure. 

Then it would be afternoon, and it’s been snowing all night. It’s probably a good time to go sledding. 

No. No stalling. He was going to tell Max after breakfast and that was final. 

Max scampered into the room half past seven, dressed for the day in his signature hoody and jeans. The hoody was a new one, of course, that Bruce had purchased. It actually fit him, and wasn’t falling apart, like his original Flash hoody. Bruce chuckled. It was going to be the first time a Flash symbol made it into the Batcave. 

“Good morning, Max. How’d you sleep?”

Max grinned and hopped up on his chair at the table. ‘Good,” he said, cheerfully, as he reached for his glass of orange juice Alfred had already prepared. 

Bruce pulled up the news on his tablet while he sipped his coffee and waited for the rest of the family to join them for breakfast. Alfred insisted all four of them eat together, since it was the holidays, after all. Damian walked in a few minutes later, greeting Bruce with a ‘Good morning, Father,’ followed shortly by Tim, who simply grunted and poured himself some coffee. 

The family ate pancakes in silence for a while until Max said, “Damian? Why do you call Bruce ‘Father?’”

Tim immediately poured himself another cup of coffee while Bruce looked over at his son, half expecting the kid to say something along the lines of ‘because I’m his only son.’ 

To Bruce’s surprise, Damian did not take the opportunity to insult the entire family, but instead simply said, “because that is who he is.” 

“Are you mad at him?”

Damian scowled. “Why would I be mad at Father?”

“Because,” Max said patiently, “the only time people call their dads ‘father’ is when they’re mad.”

“I-“ Damian paused and looked between Bruce and Maxwell with a strange expression. 

Bruce watched Tim scarf down his eggs with an amused smile on his face. Tim just loved seeing Damian in distress. 

“Son, I told you, if you want to call me ‘Father’ you may,” Bruce offered, trying to quell whatever negative thoughts his son might be having. “Max, that is true of American culture, but Damian did not grow up in American culture. He sees addressing me as ‘Father’ as respectful.”

“Yes,” Damian said slowly, as he nodded blankly. “I also address Mother as such. I referred to her as ‘mama’ as a young child but have since outgrown such childish monikers.” 

“You did?” Tim asked. When Damian nodded, Tim continued, “Huh. That’s what I called my mom, too.”

Both older boys looked over at Max, who frowned. “I don’t know what I called my mom. I was a baby.”

“Hey, Max,” Bruce said, trying to pull the topic off dead or absent mothers, “after breakfast I want to show you something.” 

“Really?” the boy asked, “what?” 

“Something I think you’ll like. It’s downstairs.” 

At that, Tim and Damian looked to Bruce and raised their eyebrows. 

Tim grinned wide and Damian said, “Really, Father?” If Bruce weren’t mistaken, his tone was more pleasantly surprised than annoyed.

“Yes, yes. Once you’re done eating we’ll go. Boys, you can join us after. Let me show him first.”

“Sure thing, Bruce,” Tim replied. 

It only took a couple more minutes for Max to finish scarfing down his breakfast and hop up. “I’m ready!” he announced.

Bruce led Max in silence to the downstairs study. Every step brought them closer to the clock and closer to the family’s new future with Max. Telling him ‘the secret’ would absolutely mean making him a permanent fixture in their family. It was declaring their trust in this child and claiming him as their own. It was slightly terrifying, but simultaneously exhilarating. 

They stood before the grandfather clock that hid the entrance the Batcave. Max looked at Bruce puzzled, but kept whatever comments he had to himself. 

“This clock has been in the family for generations. It’s one of the most important pieces of furniture in the house,” Bruce explained.

“That’s neat,” Max said, slightly bored. Bruce had to suppress a chuckle. It was kind of boring to be dragged across the Manor just to be shown a clock. 

“Just watch. The clock isn’t what I wanted to show you.” Bruce opened the glass door covering the clock face and turned the hands to the proper time. “10:48,” he explained, “the time my parents died. It was the moment everything was put into motion.”

Bruce watched Max’s face intently as he allowed the clock to reveal the hidden entrance to the cave. Confusion was what flickered across Max’s face first, followed by curiosity. 

They stepped through the new opening in the wall as lights flickered on to reveal the entirety of the cave. 

“What is-“ Max froze as he took in the true magnitude of the cave. He scanned the room slowly and recognition registered in his eyes before they widened and a grin plastered across his face. “You’re telling me?” he shouted excitedly. 

Bruce blinked. He- Did Max..?

Max grabbed Bruce’s arm and shook it, interrupting his thoughts, and smiled brighter than Bruce had ever seen. “I can know?”

“Did you already?”

“Can I meet the Flash now? Please!” he squealed. 

All Bruce could do was laugh. He had been worried for nothing. Everyone had been worried about this for nothing. Apparently, Max had already known, and was so good at keeping secrets no one knew he knew. On top of all that, he didn’t seem to mind the secret, nor the fact Bruce hadn’t trusted him with it yet. 

“Please, Bruce? Superman said you should introduce us and I’m not saying you have to listen to Superman, but you have to admit he’s pretty smart.” 

Bruce knelt down until he was eye to eye with his youngest. “You even knew about Superman?”

Max’s grin turned from excited to shy and embarrassed. “Well, yeah.”

“How? Did you know the entire time?”

“No, not the whole time. He basically gloated at you that I liked Superman better than Batman, which was weird. Then when he found out I liked the Flash he suggested you introduce me to one of your guys’s friends from Central City who had ‘in a way’ met the Flash, which was totally code for _he was the Flash_ and really who else would you be friends with in Central City if not a Justice League member? Then I thought about that and asked Mr. Kent where he was from and realized that the only friend you could have in Metropolis was Superman so that meant Clark Kent had to be Superman! Plus, he only put on glasses. Like, for real? It’s so obvious once you know, they look _exactly alike._ ”

Max was talking so fast, it would have been difficult for even Barry Allen to keep up with him. Bruce loved seeing the excitement in the child and enjoyed being offered a rare glimpse into his thought processes. In a few years, he could offer some serious support in the detective side of the ‘family business.’ If he wanted, of course, and strictly support side. Bruce was still determined to keep him off the streets. The fewer children he had out there, the better. 

“I’m telling him you said that,” Bruce said, standing. He held his hand out to Max, who quickly accepted it. Together, they descended the stairs to the floor of the cave.

“This is so cool!” Max said in awe, as they reached the floor. He walked over to the dinosaur and stared up at it, his face the poster for childlike wonder. 

“I’m glad you think so,” Bruce said, as he pressed a button to open up the Batmobile. 

“No way!” the child squealed, as he ran over and hopped inside to check the car out. 

Bruce walked over and joined Max to point out different buttons and features of the car. “Well, it’s not a Robin-copter.” 

Max grinned, “You know, Damian agreed it was a good idea Robin get his own helicopter.” 

“Did he, now?”

“Yes, but he said it should still be black, so it could blend in with the night sky. He’s probably right, but the lego version can still be green and yellow and red.” 

Bruce smiled. Max had built that helicopter with Damian one of the first nights he was at the Manor, and Damian had apparently been playing with him already. He wondered what the kids did when he wasn’t looking, now. 

Wait a second. They built that helicopter one of the first nights he was at the Manor…

“How long have you known that I’m Batman?”

The blond flushed and ducked his head. “Well…”

“Max?”

“You aren’t mad about it, right?”

“No, of course not,” Bruce laughed. How on Earth could he possibly be mad his seven-year-old was clever?

“Since the first day I lived with you,” he said quickly. 

Laughter overcame Bruce. He sat back in his seat and rubbed at his face, trying to stop laughing. All this time. The entire fucking time Max had been living with them, they all had been walking on eggshells to keep the secret from him. That entire time, the kid knew. He knew and _he_ had been the one to keep a secret from them. “I love you, Max,” Bruce finally said, still smiling, “you are one clever boy.” 

Max’s nose crinkled as he grinned wider. “Wanna know how I figured it out?”

“I do, actually.” 

“Richard, Jason, and Damian gave it away,” he said, as if he were tattling on the boys. 

“Is that so?”

“Yep. Jason kept arguing that Hood wasn’t Batman’s friend. He likes to pretend he doesn’t like you. Richard said that Hood was Batman’s son, which made Jason mad. He also likes to pretend he’s not your son, but he told me he really is your son and he likes everyone, but that’s a secret so don’t tell him I told you. Then Damian screamed about how Robin was Batman’s only son, just like he always whines about him being your only son. Really, someone would have to be an idiot to not figure it out.” 

Bruce reached out and ruffled Max’s hair. “Yep, you are one clever boy. And don’t worry, I won’t tell Jason,” he said with a wink. 

“He said he has a rep to protect.” 

“Of course.” Jason had told Maxwell he was Bruce’s son. That comment alone probably made Bruce’s week. He was going to have to text the teen later and invite him over for Christmas. He was already planning on it, but he kept putting it off, expecting the teen to respond back with ‘fuck off,’ or something. Maybe, though. If he actually did consider them all family… Maybe he’d accept. 

“I don’t need to tell you that all this,” Bruce said, gesturing to the cave, “is a secret.” 

Max looked offended. “Of course not! Secret identities are super important, I’ll never tell anyone I promise!” 

Bruce hopped out of the car and motioned for Max to do the same. “You know what this means?”

“What?” 

“You’re officially a permanent member of the family.”

The child skipped over and grabbed hold of Bruce’s hand. He grinned up at Bruce, causing the man to melt a little. Together, they made their way back up to the Manor. 

“Want to go sledding today?” Bruce asked, as the ascended the steps. Now that they were a family, it was time they did some family things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Procrastination got the best of me! 
> 
> There's only five more chapters left! (Plus an epilogue). I hope to get the next chapter up later this week! 
> 
> Thanks for reading. <3


	20. Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is it too much to ask for everyone to attend Christmas at the Manor?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the long gap between chapters! Fluff pieces are apparently so not my thing. I've struggled a lot with this chapter. I decided to just finish and put it out and call it done. Hopefully it's not too terrible. Meep

Almost the entire family attended dinner on Christmas Eve. Not surprising to anyone, Jason had ignored the calls and texts inviting him over. They made the most of it anyway and enjoyed the family dinner. Alfred even joined them at the table, a rare treat.

Bruce spent most the dinner silently observing his boys, a faint smile gracing his lips.  The room was alive with laughter and loud conversation between them.  Dick was telling cop stories, much to Max's delight.  His eldest was quite the storyteller and somehow managed to make even the most routine sounding traffic stop seem fascinating.  Tim and Damian chimed in from time to time with sarcastic comments or rips at Dick, causing fits of laughter from all the boys.  Bruce couldn't have asked for a better night.  

Well, maybe had Jason attended...  

After dessert, the family moved to the living room where the tree was set up to open a present each.  It was a tradition Dick had started years ago when he was just a child, and ever since the family has opened one present each on Christmas Eve and after they'd watch classic Christmas movies until the kids fell asleep. 

"We can't open presents, yet," Max said once he realized what they were doing.  

Dick laughed and asked, "Why not?  Opening a gift on Christmas Eve is a tradition."  

"Not everyone is here!" Max said urgently.  

Everyone frowned and looked between each other, no one brave enough to speak up.  

Bruce sighed, "Max, Jason didn't want to come."

Max huffed and walked up to Tim. "Can I use your phone?" 

"Uh, I guess?" Tim responded, handing over his unlocked phone.  

After tapping on the screen a few times, the child held the phone up to his ear and waited patiently.  

 _"What?"_ Jason could be heard demanding.  Max had turned the volume all the way up.  

"Hi Jason!" Max cheered, the grin on his face clear in his voice.  

_"Max?  What do you want?"_

"We can't open presents until you get here."  

_"What? I'm not-"_

"Come on, Jason!  It's my first Christmas and you're ruining it!"  

Tim coughed to stifle a laugh, causing everyone else in the room to grin.  

_"How am I ruining it, I'm not even there."_

"Exactly!" Max shouted, "So hurry up and get over here."  

_"Ugh."_

"Please?" Max begged in his sweetest voice, causing Tim to get up and leave the room in a fit of laughter.  

_"Fine. God."_

Max pulled the phone away from his face and looked down at it. "There, problem solved."  

"That was amazing," Dick said with a huge grin.  Even Damian was suppressing a smirk.  

"Who knew you were a master manipulator," Tim said as he reentered the room.  

The youngest simply beamed at the comment and handed the phone back.  

During the hour it took for Jason to arrive at the Manor, the family watched the first film of their planned Christmas movie marathon, _Frosty the Snowman._

When Bruce's second son finally did arrive, he looked less than thrilled to be there.  Jason plopped down on the couch and rested his head in his hands.  He hadn't removed his jacket or shoes, and was acting like he was merely there so Max could open a present.  

After a very brief argument over who gets to play 'Santa,' it was agreed that Max got to hand out the gifts, since he was the youngest.  The child happily played the role and maticulously selected a gift for each person. 

They had long since stopped putting 'from' on gifts, so part of the fun of the night was guessing who got each person what gift.  

Max opened his present first.  It was the set of 'batfamily' action figures Bruce had made specifically for the boy.  Without waiting for confirmation that Bruce had been the giver, Max hopped up and gave Bruce a quick hug before sitting next to Jason to show off the different figures.  

Damian opened his gift next.  It was a black and blue hoody, apparently.  It wasn't until he unfolded it and held it up did everyone see that it was a Nightwing hoody.  The preteen scowled and glared at Dick.  "Grayson, I am not wearing this."  

"Come now, Little D, is that the appropriate reaction to a gift?" Dick grinned.  

"Tt."  Damian twitched, "Thank you, Grayson," he ground out, as he placed the hoody back in it's box.  Despite his show of anger, Bruce knew Damian liked the gift.  He wouldn't be surprised if he saw the lad wearing the hoody soon.  As much as he tried not to admit, Damian adored his eldest brother.  

Tim opened his gift next.  It was the latest Grand Theft Auto game.  "Thanks, Bruce."  

Everyone turned to Jason, who had been paying too much attention to Max to notice.  

"Your turn, Little Wing."  

Jason grumbled at the nickname and hastily unwrapped his gift, which was a book.  " _Blind Justice_ by Bruce Alexander.  Hm. Thanks."  

"Have you read it before?" Max asked.

"No."  

The child grinned knowingly, "I think you'll like it!"  

"So you got it for me?  We might have to read it together, then."  

Dick's present wound up being a donut keyring, gifted to him by Tim, of all people.  Bruce never thought of Tim as a kid who joked around like that.  

Bruce opened his gift next.  The dumb grins on half of his boys' faces made him suspicious before he even removed any of the wrapping.  It was a coffee mug, a usual kind of gift for him on Christmas, but this mug said 'I <3 my rescues' and had various animal paw prints on it.  Max began giggling and Dick and Tim burst out into laughter.  

"Very funny," Bruce said flatly, "but Damian is the one who rescues animals."  

"Yeah, a habit he got from you," Dick said.  

"If you are comparing Alfred the cat to you, Grayson, you should stop.  None of you will ever be as adequate as Alfred."  

"Wow," Jason said, rolling his eyes.  

Dick beamed. "It's cute, because he named the cat after Alfred, then prefers the cat over all of us.  Hear that, Alfred?  You're his favorite!"  

"Thank you, Master Damian," Alfred said with a gentle smile, causing the 12-year-old to turn bright red, "but I must agree.  You boys are not stray cats."  

Finally, it was Alfred's turn to open his gift.  It was large and thin, and not something Bruce had noticed under the tree until that evening.  As the elderly butler slowly unwrapped it, his face turned from muted curiosity to sheer awe.  "This is beautiful, Master Damian," he said in a hushed tone, still examining the canvas in his hands.  

Bruce looked over at Damian and saw the boy looking away, his cheeks bright red and a pleased smile on his face.  Whatever Damian had painted was clearly something he was both proud and embarrassed about.  

"Can we see?" Tim asked.

"Of course, Master Tim," Alfred responded as he turned the painting around.  

"Alfred really is his favorite," Jason said quietly as they all observed the painting.

It was a family portrait.  One Damian obviously made up, perhaps based on multiple pictures of everyone, because never had all seven of them sat down and taken a picture together.  The last family portrait they had done hadn't included Jason, and they hadn't even attempted once since Max came along.  This portrait had all five boys, Bruce, and Alfred, sitting and standing in front of a fire place, all smiling brightly.  Damian had even painted himself smiling, instead of scowling as he normally did in pictures.  

Bruce had to blink away tears in his eyes before speaking, "You have such a talent, son." 

"I know exactly where we can hang this," Alfred said, standing.  They followed the older man out of the living room and to the formal dinning room where all the family portraits hung.  Alfred held it up over one of the many portraits of Martha and Thomas Wayne, which held the center of attention of the room, and asked, "What do you think, Master Bruce?" 

Bruce looked over at Damian, who was standing wide-eyed, clearly shocked the butler was considering replacing such a central piece with his own.  It seemed fitting.  There were so many paintings of his parents all throughout the Manor.  It was difficult to get away from their images, but there were scarce few of him and his children.  Having this portrait be the centerpiece on what was the family portrait wall felt right.  Along side it were be several other portraits of him as a child, his parents, their parents, and so on.  Now, finally, the current generation of Waynes would grace the wall for all to see.  If anyone asked, they could say Jason was painted in because even in death he's still part of the family.  

"I think it's perfect," he finally said, placing his hand on Damian's shoulder.  

Alfred switched the paintings in the frame, then rehung it on the wall.  They all stared at it for several long minutes, before Dick finally spoke up, "Okay, movie time!"  

"And on that note, I'm out of here," Jason said, waving sarcastically.

"Oh, no, Little Wing.  This is a family tradition and as part of the family you are required to attend."  

Bruce wrapped his arm around Jason's shoulders, causing the young man to stiffen, as he guided Jason toward the living room.  "Jay, you're already here.  Might as well stay.  It is Christmas, after all."  

Jason stopped walking, causing him and Bruce to hang behind while everyone else left the room. "Look, I don't really-"

"I want you here," Bruce interrupted, "We're your family, Jay, and we all want you here with us."  

After a deep breath, Jason finally nodded and walked on ahead to the living room without Bruce.  He took one last look at the portrait before joining his family.  Damian saw their strange collection of people as family, finally, after two years of arguing with him over the definition of family.  Jason was slowly allowing himself to be brought back into the fold, and even Dick and Tim seemed a bit happier lately.  Tim was around a lot more and Dick wasn't constantly angry with Bruce.  Max was opening up and becoming more talkative, reminding Bruce of the little boy he had met for lunch all those months ago.  Bruce could get used to this.

They all sat crowded on and around the sofa in the living room.  Jason sitting on one end with Max leaning up against him.  Bruce sat on the other end, with Tim sitting between him and Max.  Dick sprawled out on the ground, his back resting against Bruce's legs, and Damian curled up beside Dick.  Alfred had excused himself after the first movie without a word, leaving Bruce and his boys to watch the playlist of Christmas classics alone.  By the fourth movie, all the boys were asleep.  Bruce carefully adjusted everyone's blankets before settling down himself to sleep, and as per another Christmas tradition, the family slept there, together, until morning.  

Bruce could really get used to this.  


	21. Max's Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce gets called to Max's school to discuss something he'd done. Somehow, that results in Bruce spending the afternoon with a child he never though he'd get one-on-one time with again. He's not unhappy about it.

January flew by faster than Bruce could blink. Between the youngest two boys going to school and the oldest two visiting often, the family had fallen into a nice routine.

Max melted right into the family. After being assured time and time again that he was loved and wanted in the house, by more than just Bruce, surprisingly, he had gained confidence in his place Bruce hadn’t realized he didn’t have. If before Max was snarky, new max was downright petulant. Not that Bruce’s other children weren’t petulant. Max fit in perfectly.

One of Bruce’s favorite new thing was the relationship blooming between Jason and Max. His second son visited at least once a week, usually using Max as an excuse. The two had been working their way through _Harry Potter_ together. Usually Jason read to Max, but Bruce had walked in on Max reading aloud a couple times while Jason lay on the ground with his eyes closed. It was a nice sight to see. He might have snapped a few pictures for his ‘favorites’ album.

Even if Max was rude and sarcastic to his family, he had been an angel at school, according to his teacher. The child loved learning and tended to get along with everyone.

That’s why it came as a shock one Monday in February when Bruce was called to speak to the child’s teacher.

Bruce walked down the familiar halls of Gotham Academy. With boys like Jason and Damian as sons, Bruce had had his fair share of parent-teacher conferences to discuss _behavior._ It only took him a minute to navigate the 2nd grade hallway and find Maxwell’s classroom. The kids were currently at lunch, meaning Bruce was able to speak to the teacher in private about whatever it was she wanted to speak out.

He had been prepared to hear about some snide comment Max had made. Perhaps he had insulted a teacher. Heavens knows he made snippy comments to Bruce all the time. Bruce knew the child was only teasing, and that he never said something with the intent of hurting feelings, but people who didn’t know the child as well might not understand that.

“Ah, Mr. Wayne, thanks for coming in,” Ms. Mason said upon Bruce’s arrival.

“Yes, of course,” Bruce said as he took a seat across from the teacher, “what has Max done?” He learned long ago to skip the pleasantries and just get down to whatever his kid did.

“Oh, no, he’s not done anything wrong. I wanted to ask you about a project he turned in recently. Frankly, I’m a bit concerned about something he wrote.”

Bruce relaxed slightly to know Max hadn’t been misbehaving, but then was honestly confused. What on earth could Max have written to warrant Bruce being called in for a meeting?

When Bruce didn’t respond, Ms. Mason continued, “I had the students make family trees to display in the hall. I honestly wasn’t sure what to expect from Max, considering he’s a foster child and everything, but I certainly wasn’t expecting this.”

She handed Bruce a poster board with pictures of the entire Wayne family glued into a tree. Max had written under each picture the name of the person and the relationship to him. Bruce was listed as “dad,” Tim as “brother,” and so on. Adorably, Alfred was listed as “grandfather.” Next to each picture he wrote something about the person and why he liked them so much. Dick’s was sweet, Max enjoyed going out for ice cream with him. Damian’s was funny. Max said he was kind of mean but fun to play with. Bruce couldn’t find a problem with the poster.

“Are you concerned that he’s considering us his family?”

“No, not at all. I’m thrilled he feels so at home with you. I’m concerned about how he wrote about… well,” she paused to take a deep breath, “how he wrote about Jason.”

Bruce blinked, then looked back at the poster. He had noticed Jason on the poster, but for whatever reason it hadn’t registered that ‘shit, Jason’s on this poster.’ Max wrote about how much he liked when Jason read to him. “Ah,” Bruce finally said while he searched through his mind for possible explanations. He had none.

“This is very concerning. Why would he be writing about a child he has never met as if they see each other all the time? I’m really not sure which direction to go with this. Is he okay mentally? Is this just him writing out stories he’s heard from the other boys? Help me understand this.”

“Uh, if you’d excuse me just a second, I need to make a call.”

Standing, he walked to the other end of the classroom and pulled out his phone. Finding Jason’s contact, he pressed call and just hoped the teen would answer for once.

After four rings, a groggy voice answered, “Whaaaaaaaat, I’m sleeping.”

“We need to talk.”

“Oh my god why do you sound so serious. It’s like 6am.”

“It’s 11:30 and this is serious. Max wrote about how great of a brother Jason Todd is.”

“Okay? Thanks for telling me. He’s a neat little brat, now excuse me I’m going back to sleep.”

“Jay,” he hissed quietly, “he turned it in at school. The teacher is asking me if Max is crazy.”

Silence stretched on for a few seconds before Jason finally said, “I’m sorry. I guess I wasn’t clear enough that I’m a secret. Can’t you just tell her that you all talk about me so much he feels like he knows me? I’m sure she’ll buy it.”

Bruce sighed, “Yeah, I can do that. But there’s another option.”

“And what would that be,” Jason asked boredly.

“I can do a press conference.”

“What?”

“Today. I already have the release written up. I wrote it up years ago.“

“I’m not following,” Jason asked, confusion clear in his voice.

Bruce continued on, not bothering to explain himself further. “It’s up to you. I’ve been waiting on you. Do you want to do it?”

“You wrote it up years ago? Wrote _what_ up years ago? Bruce it’s like 4 in the morning I’m still asleep.”

“The press release telling the world you’re alive, Jay. That your body wasn’t actually recovered and the one we buried wasn’t you, apparently. You were kidnapped and we found out recently that you survived. It’s up to you whether I release it.”

The silence stretched on so long this time, Bruce pulled his phone away from his face to make sure the call hadn’t been ended. “What,” Jason finally said, his voice hollow. He sounded like he was a million miles away.

“Do you want it, son?”

“I-“ Jason paused, and Bruce could hear a sharp intake of breath, “yeah,” he whispered. “Yes. I want it.”

Bruce smiled brighter than he has in a while. “Okay, good. Great. I’ll call the press conference for this afternoon at 3. Please be at the manor at least an hour before hand so we can go over the details. I’ll get the release to the PR team and get my lawyers on fixing the records. I’ll email you the draft as soon as I hang up so you can read it and give any feedback before I sent it to PR, so check it over fast, okay?”

“Yeah,” Jason said, sounding stunned and slightly overwhelmed.

“Are you sure you want this, Jason?”

“Yeah. Yes. I do, I-“ the teen laughed, “yeah I want it.”

“Okay. I have to get back to Max’s teacher. I’ll see you in a couple hours.”

“Yeah, yeah see you then.”

“Alright, I love you.”

“Uh yeah. Bye.”

Bruce smiled again as he ended the call. That was the most positive reaction to ‘I love you’ he had received from Jason thus far. Usually the teen retorted with ‘fuck you.’ Maybe they had made more progress than Bruce thought in recent months. Six months prior Jason wouldn’t even answer the phone for Bruce. Now he was willingly coming over to the Manor, with little to no incentive to do so. What changed?

Turning to the teacher, Bruce cleared his throat. “Yeah, so Jason isn’t dead. Long story. I have a lot of work to do to prepare for this press conference.”

“I, uh-“ Ms. Mason flustered, “What? Mr. Wayne, I was teaching high school when Jason died. He was one of my students… I- I went to the funeral. I don’t understand. How can he not be dead?”

“Like I said, long story. Basically, the body we buried wasn’t him, and he was kidnapped. He came back home a couple years ago but didn’t really want to be put in the public spotlight, so we kept it quiet.”

“Isn’t that- So he’s alive? He’s really alive and okay?”

Bruce nodded while he emailed Jason the press release as promised.

“Thank the lord. He’s such a sweet kid, his death was devastating to the school. I can’t imagine what you were going through. So,” she laughed, “he really does read to Max?”

“Yeah, Jason is Max’s favorite brother. They get along wonderfully.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear. I’m sorry for wasting your time today, then. I didn’t know.”

Bruce smiled and stood. “Don’t worry about it. Actually, thank you, for this. I don’t know if I could have convinced Jason without this push.”

\---

Back at the Manor, Bruce found Jason sitting in the kitchen holding a cup of tea so tightly Bruce was afraid the china would snap and injure Jason.

“Jay-lad, stop trying to kill that cup,” he said jokingly, “It belonged to your grandmother.”

“Sorry,” he replied, releasing the cup, “I’m just nervous.”

“Don’t be. I won’t even make you talk, if you don’t want to.”

Jason shook his head, “It’s not that.”

“Are you having second thoughts?” Bruce asked as he sat on the stool across from Jason.

“No,” Jason said adamantly, “I’m not. No. It’s just-“

“Just…?” Bruce prodded gently. Getting Jason to talk about his feelings was worse than getting a child to eat broccoli. Not that Bruce was one to talk, really. God his sons were just like him.

“This makes it so real,” Jason said, hiding his head in his arms.

Bruce wasn’t sure what that meant. “Makes what real?”

“This,” he said, motioning ‘everything’ with his hands. “This family. It makes me part of-“ The teen stopped and let out a loud puff of breath.

“Jason,” Bruce said softly, reaching across the island to rest his hand on the teen’s arm, “you’ve always been part of the family, whether you considered yourself to be or not. When I adopted you, I meant forever and nothing you’ve ever done or ever will do will make me regret that.”

A bitter laugh escaped Jason as his body heaved. “Why are you such a fucking sap,” he said with a shaky voice.

Bruce got up and rounded the counter, placing his hand on the teen’s back. “Jason, sit up and look at me.”

His son slowly, reluctantly complied and looked up at Bruce with tears in his eyes. Bruce smiled and wrapped an arm around his shoulder and pulled him close. “I love you.”

“I know,” Jason whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Bruce said before planting a kiss in the teen’s hair. He held is son for another minute, relishing the moment. Jason almost never let Bruce touch him and holding onto him like this was even rarer. It reminded him so much of that kind-hearted, troubled little 12-year-old he took in all those years ago. The angry teenager with a quick wit and a bright smile. Movie nights and baseball games. Late breakfasts with sticky pancakes and greasy mid-patrol hamburger stops. Brighter days when the Manor was filled with mischievous laughter.

“Stop it, if you cry I’m going to cry,” Jason whined, pushing Bruce away.

Bruce laughed and wiped his eyes. He hadn’t even noticed he was crying. “I’m just so happy you’re back, Jason. I’ve been happy, ever since I first saw you, but now- I’ve missed you, Jay.”

Jason leaned forward on the counter and rubbed his eyes. “I missed you too, Dad,” he mumbled.

They stayed in comfortable silence for a moment, both of them using the pause in conversation to compose themselves.  

“That was so sweet!” Dick squealed from the kitchen door, causing both Bruce and Jason to jump.

“Fuck you dickface,” Jason snapped.

The teen yelped in surprise when Dick squished him in a hug. “Jay’s officially alive, we should celebrate. Throw a party or something.”

“Not yet. We still have to do the press conference,” Bruce reminded.

“No parties. That wasn’t part of the deal, and get the fuck off me.” Jason pushed Dick away and got up to wash his face at the sink.

Bruce smiled and addressed his eldest son. “I didn’t know you were coming today, Dick.”

“Wasn’t, then Alfred texted saying Jason was coming out-“ he paused and waited for Jason to scowl at him, “as not dead,” he grinned. “So, I just had to come over and see it for myself. We _are_ celebrating, though, right? Dinner or something? Family vacation! When’s the boys’ spring break I can totally get off work and we can go somewhere.”

Looking at the apprehension in Jason’s face, Bruce said “Let’s just take it one step at a time, okay? Get through the press conference and then see where to go from there.”

“Okay, fine. One step at a time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, wow, that took way too long for me to write and get up. Sorry about putting the story on hiatus accidentally. :(. I hope the chapter was worth the wait.


	22. French Toast and Phone Calls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The family enjoys a nice breakfast and Bruce receives a phone call he's been dreading. Or hoping for. Or both?

The press conference went remarkably well. The press bought the story that the family didn’t want the ordeal Jason had been through to make national news so soon after it happened. Amazingly, while the reporters present did try to press for more details about what _exactly_ Jason had been through, they were fairly respectful.

By being vague about the circumstances of Jason’s ‘kidnapping,’ it was left up to the reporters to assume something horrendous happened, and therefore pressing a teenager for more details would be insensitive. It played well into the story and meant that Jason was not absolutely mobbed in the following days.

Bruce insisted he stay at the Manor, regardless.

Jason only argued a little before agreeing to _‘only a week, I have a life, too, Bruce.’_

Now Bruce was sitting at the dining table, sipping at his coffee while he read the morning news. As predicted, Jason’s story was the top headline for local news and among the top for national news.

“Father,” Damian demanded as he stomped into the kitchen, half dressed for school. “My tie is missing and Maxwell will not tell me where he’s hidden it.”

“I didn’t take your stupid tie!” the blamed tike shouted as he walked through the door. Unlike Damian, Max was fully dressed and ready for school. Bruce was proud the kid could handle his tie, shoes, and hair without assistance at 7. He recalled helping Dick with his tie well into his teen years.

Damian spun to face Max, “Who else would have taken it?” he snarled, “You’re the only thief in this house.”

“Damian,” Bruce admonished, at the same time Max rolled his eyes and took a seat.

“Why would I want your tie? I have my own tie, and I don’t even want it so…” Max said, shaking his head at Damian.

“The demon’s still shouting,” Tim grumbled as he entered the dining room, a half empty mug of coffee in his hands.

“Good morning, Tim,” Bruce said cheerfully, actively deciding to completely ignore the continued bickering going on between the youngest two.

Tim glared at Bruce while Damian ranted about ‘little children’ touching his things.

“Why would I steal a tie?” Max shouted back, “If I wanted to steal something of yours, I would take your cat.”

“Don’t you touch Alfred!” Damian screeched.

Bruce grimaced and took another sip of his coffee. “So, anything of interest happening today?” he asked, directing his question toward his current favorite son. The one not screaming in his ear at 7 in the morning.

_”I’ll play with your cat if I want to. You can’t stop me.”_

“Likely just fielding questions thanks to your lovely impromptu press conference yesterday,” Tim said sarcastically, “Thanks for such a tiny window of warning, B. Really appreciate it.”

_”Don’t be ridiculous, you’re no match for me.”_

“Last I checked you aren’t PR. Make PR deal with it. That’s what I do.”

_”That’s what you think._

Tim sighed dramatically. “Bruce, I swear half my job is just cleaning up after you.”

_”Give it back!”_

“And the board appreciates it, Tim,” Bruce smiled.

_”I don’t have it!”_

A crashing sound drew Bruce’s attention back to his youngest two sons just in time to see Jason snatch Damian by the collar and lift him in the air, away from Max.

“Whoa there, we don’t jump 7-year-olds, demon,” Jason said as he released the boy, causing him to fall several feet to the ground.

Damian landed with grace and scowled at his brother, “I was not going to jump him,” he pouted.

Jason laughed. “No, right. You just threw that chair out of the way because you wanted to hug him.”

“I was not going to hug him, either,” the boy snapped, “and don’t put your hands on me again, Todd, or you’ll regret it.”

Tim snickered and it took Bruce a second to realize why the teenager was laughing. He had assumed it had to do with Damian’s threat. Dick once explained that Damian made him think of a kitten, and whenever the child made a death threat he couldn’t help but picture ‘a cute little kitten wearing a bow screeching out horrible things.’ No matter how vulgar the threats were, they always came across as cute. He hated to admit it, but Bruce could see it.

That wasn’t why Tim was laughing, though. Tim was laughing at what Jason was wearing around his neck.

“ _You_ stole my tie,” Damian accused while he made a grab for the garment.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Jason said as he batted away the child’s hands, “This is my tie. Doesn’t it look good with this outfit?”

“You’re wearing pajamas, you uncultured swine.”

“And this is the stately Wayne Manor, dear boy, I would be out of place without a tie at breakfast, now wouldn’t I?”

“Holy crap we _are_ all wearing ties,” Tim whispered with a bewildered expression.

This caused everyone to burst out laughing, save for Damian, who was still trying to liberate his neckwear.

Alfred entered the room carrying a tray of delicious smelling French toast and began serving breakfast. “Master Jason,” he said, not skipping a beat in his work, “it is always a pleasure to have you, but please refrain from riling up Master Damian before school. You are not the one to deal with him all day.”

“Right, sorry Alfie,” Jason said as he slipped the tie off and tossed it at Damian.

After that, breakfast was downright pleasant.

Bruce smiled softly as he listened to four of his sons exchange jokes, good-natured jabs, and plans for the day.

So much had changed in less than a year.

Just last summer Bruce spent most of his meals in silence with an angry 12-year-old, when the kid wasn't pouting in his room.  Now he rarely ate alone, and certainly never ate in silence.  Every meal was accompanied by laughter, smiles, and boisterous conversations.  He often found himself hoping the meal would never end.    

“Master Damian, where are your shoes and blazer?” Alfred asked when he came back to the room to retrieve the two youngest for school.

“Oh, crap,” the child said as he hopped up and ran toward his room.

“Walk,” Bruce shouted after him, much to the amusement of everyone in the room.

“You sound like such a dad,” Tim commented through a mouthful of fruit salad.

“And you eat with your mouth shut,” Bruce said with a small grin.

“He _is_ a dad,” Max insisted.

“Indeed, Master Maxwell. Go wash that syrup off your face,” Alfred said impatiently, “Quickly now or you’ll be late.”

“Sure!” Max scurried to the kitchen to do as he was told and reentered the dining room at the same time as Damian.

Bruce stood and walked over to where Damian and Max were being inspected by Alfred for uniform violations and wrapped an arm around each boy, pulling them into a loose hug.

“Have a nice day,” he said softly as he quickly pressed a kiss into each boy’s hair, “I love you both.”

Max smiled brightly at Bruce while Damian looked away and quietly muttered, “love you, too,” seemingly too embarrassed to say it any louder in front of an audience.

Alfred ushered the boys out the door, saying, “Shall we, young masters?”

“Bye, Bruce!” Max shouted as he skipped off.

“Goodbye, boys.”

When Bruce turned back around, he was met with a very confused Jason giving him an odd look. “What?” he questioned, a little put off by the teen’s intense stare.

“You’re just so…” Jason paused, scrunching his face, “different.”

Bruce nodded. After a few moments of silence, he added, “Good.”

Jason reached across the table and snatched Tim’s mug, then took a swig from it. “Haven’t you ever heard of creamer?” he said with a grimace.

“Jason,” Tim whined, “I need that.”

“Nope. You’re too young for coffee,” Jason laughed as he pulled the mug away from Tim’s reaching hands and took another sip.

“Bruce. Help,” the younger boy pleaded.

“What’s gotten into you, Jase?” Bruce asked, “First Damian, now Tim.”

“Hey, if I’ve learned anything from Dickie-bird it’s that it’s _my job_ to be a shit to the younger kids.”

“Why is this my life,” Tim groaned as he hid his head in his arms. “I miss being an only child.”

Bruce finished his final bite of French toast and pointed his fork at the teen while he thought about his response. “No, you don’t,” he finally said.

“Maybe not. But I don’t appreciate being the middle child, either.”

Jason chugged the last of Tim’s coffee and stood. He ruffled the kid’s hair, perhaps being a little too rough, as he returned the mug. “Here ya go, Timmy.”

“I hate you.”

“I’m going back to bed,” Jason said as he left.

Tim raised an eyebrow. “Did he really get up just to have breakfast with us?”

Bruce shrugged and finished off his coffee. “Ready for work?”

“Let me get a travel mug and yes.”

\----

Tim was right. The day was spent fielding questions about the press conference the day before. Or rather, the day was spent reminding everyone to direct questions to PR, because that’s their job and why are they asking Bruce?

After lunch, Bruce’s phone rang for the umpteen thousandth time. This time, however, he recognized the caller ID. His lawyer. His _custody_ lawyer.

“Nick,” he greeted, “please tell me you have good news.” Bruce picked up a stress ball Dick had bought him as a joke years ago and inspected it.

 _“Well,”_ the man replied, _“I have news.”_

Great. That’s exactly what Bruce wanted to hear, bad news. Life just didn’t let him have too much good at once, did it?

Bruce tossed the ball into the air and caught it. “Alright, lay it on me.”

_“It’s not bad, I promise. It’s just not good, either.”_

“What does that mean? Just tell me.”

_“Michael George’s hearing was this morning. He pled guilty to all counts.”_

Bruce spun in his chair to face the windows behind his desk. The gloomy sky did nothing to make the topic of Max’s father easier to handle. “Did he take a plea bargain?” Bruce asked, confused.

_“No.”_

“He pled guilty to murder, too?”

_“Yes. All counts.”_

Holy shit. George had admitted to killing his own brother. And the various counts associated with his attempting to traffic Max.

“So, what does this mean for the adoption effort?” Bruce asked. Surely the judge could terminate the man’s parental rights now. Once that happened, Bruce would be free to adopt the child. Who in their right mind would let a man who admitted to trying to sell his kid for $15k have any sort of control over the child.

_“Well, his rights haven’t been terminated yet. I met with George after his hearing, however, and discussed him signing away his rights willingly.”_

“And?” Anxiety began gnawing at Bruce’s stomach. If George put up a fight over this, it could jeopardize Max’s placement. The state could take him away. The boy’s social worker was very happy with the placement, but that at the end of the day she wasn’t the only one with power over where Max lived.

 _“Mr. Wayne,”_ Nick began, then sighed, _“George refused to discuss it with me. He informed me that if you want to adopt Max, you will need to ask him yourself. In person.”_

Bruce spun back around and smacked the stress ball back onto the desk. “He wants to meet me?”

_“That was his demand.”_

“What is he playing?” he shouted as he began to pace the office, “He tried to sell his kid to a gang. A child prostitution ring, and now he suddenly wants to know who’s got his kid?”

_”We can bypass him and petition for his rights to be terminated.”_

“What’s the likelihood we’ll be successful?”

_”I’m almost certain we can persuade a judge to terminate the rights. Approve you for adoption, however? I’m not sure. Regardless, it will be a nasty custody hearing and Max will likely have to face his father again._

He paused and gave the phone a scowl. “No. Absolutely not.”

_”Mr. Wayne, a custody battle isn’t something we can have without him being involved in some way.”_

“No. He’s _happy._ I’m not going to ruin that by making him see his dad again.”

_”I can draw up the paperwork to petition for termination of parental rights, but I’m telling you now I don’t see this happening without the two of them being face to face at least once.”_

Bruce hummed in thought.

If George only wanted to meet Bruce before he signed over his rights, that was something Bruce could probably manage. He was very good at facing down gang leaders as Bruce Wayne without punching them, surely he could do the same for Michael George.

“I’ll do it.”

_”Do what?”_

“Meet with George. I’ll meet with him and convince him to just sign the papers,” Bruce paused then nodded, “Yeah. Set that up, will you?”

_”Mr. Wayne I advise strongly against this. George likely just wants money, and paying the man for parental rights would be the same as buying the child.”_

“I never said I’d give him anything.”

_”Then what do you expect to come from this meeting?”_

“I don’t know, but if there’s any chance at us avoiding a custody battle, we should try it, right?”

Nick sighed audibly, then said, " _Fine. But for the record, I am against this. You have to be extremely careful, Mr. Wayne. You can’t promise him anything. You can’t hit him. Don’t-“_

“I get it,” Bruce interjected, “It’ll be fine, stop worrying. Let me know when the meeting is when you get it set up. Thanks for all your help.”

 _“Sure thing, Mr. Wayne,”_ Nick said before Bruce ended the call.

Bruce stood in the middle of his office for several minutes after the call, running through every scenario he could imagine for is meeting with Michael George. In every one of them George demanded money or assistance of some sort. In none of them did he sign rights away.

“Uh, is the middle of your office warmer or something?”

Bruce startled at Tim’s voice and turned to face the boy. “No. I just got off the phone with Nick Schneider.”

Tim frowned. “The press conference didn’t affect the adoption process, did it?”

“Shit,” Bruce said with sudden realization. What if it did? What if a judge looked at how Bruce kept secret that his dead son wasn’t dead for years and decide his home was not a safe place for a child. What if Max’s social worker thought that?

“Bruce?”

“No,” he finally said, meeting Tim’s eyes. “I didn’t think about that, and he didn’t say anything. Actually, Max’s dad wants to meet me before he signs over rights.”

“What?” Tim demanded.

“I know. I agree. Also, he pled guilty to all charges.”

Tim tilted his head and considered that for a moment. “So, he pled guilty to murdering his brother?” When Bruce nodded, Tim continued, “B, what do you think the motive was there?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you think the uncle was the one taking care of Max while his dad was in prison?”

Bruce sighed, “I honestly don’t know. Max hasn’t opened up about that at all. Dinah hasn’t even heard anything about that time in his life.”

“So, whoever he was with was the one who… _abused_ him, then.”

Bruce nodded, “most likely.”

He had given that a lot of thought. While Max hated his father and vocalized that often, he didn’t seem particularly afraid of the man. Bruce expected a child that froze up around strange men in completely innocent situations to be terrified of his abuser, so his father probably was not him. That meant whoever was watching him before likely was, especially since no one had been told who that person was.

Tim nodded thoughtfully. “Maybe that’s the motive, then.”

“George tried to traffic Max,” Bruce seethed, “I don’t see him killing his brother over touching his kid and then turning around and sticking Max right back into that life.”

Tim lifted his hands in surrender with a shrug, “Just a thought. Be careful, Bruce. He probably just wants money.”

“I know. But if there’s any chance that he’ll sign the papers, I have to give it a go.”

Max deserved so much more than what he was given in life. If he could get those papers signed, though. Bruce smiled. _Maxwell Wayne_ had a nice ring to it. He couldn’t wait to tell the kid the good news. He just needed to make it happen first. If that meant facing the boy’s father, Bruce would do it.

He’d do anything for Max.

He’d do anything for any of his sons, really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of fluff. Let me know if anything feels too forced and I'll work on it. I'm terrible at fluff. 
> 
> It's crazy how this story is winding down. It's been my baby for months now and it feels so good to almost have it done. Just have to write two more chapters and I'm done writing. So weird. 
> 
> Be on the look out for a one-shot from this universe. It will take us back to Chapter 13 and be from Jason's perspective. I'll post it after the next chapter's up. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! :D


	23. Flawed Logic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce meets Michael George and learns a lot about Max's past. Can the two come to an agreement on Max's future, or will Bruce be forced to take it to court?

Bruce hated the smell of prisons.

As Bruce walked through the halls of Blackgate, his nostrils were assaulted with the unmistakable smell of prison. Harsh cleaners mixed with sweat and filth. No matter how clean staff tried to get the building, it was impossible to wash the smell of Gotham’s underworld out.

It wasn’t often he visited this place out of uniform. He wasn’t there as Batman, for once. He was there as Bruce Wayne. Bruce Wayne, the man petitioning to adopt one of the inmates’ children.

He hadn’t told Max where he was going. Hadn’t let the boy know he was going to meet the boy’s father at all. If Michael George said no to the adoption, they’d just petition the court for it. Really, this was just a formality to avoid a nasty custody battle, and Max did not need to know that George forced a meeting just to say no.

The guard accompanying him led him to a small room removed from the main area of the prison. Bruce knew these rooms were usually used for inmates to meet with their lawyers so they could have privacy without losing on security. He really wasn’t sure whether he appreciated being given privacy.

On the one hand, it meant George might talk relatively freely, but on the other it meant Bruce wouldn’t have the other guards watching his every move. Keeping him in check.

Bruce wasn’t entirely sure he wouldn’t punch George.

No, no. He couldn’t hit the guy. That wouldn’t help Max at all.

“We have him cuffed, so he can’t harm you, but I’d still keep my distance if I were you,” the guard warned once they reached the door to the room, “We were told to give you as much time as you needed, so just knock when you’re ready to leave. If we hear shouting we’ll enter.”

“Thanks,” Bruce said with the best grin he could muster. He probably wouldn’t be able to keep up the playboy façade while speaking to George. It was going to take all his energy just to not slip into Batman.

Bruce stepped through the doorway and paused just inside, taking in his surroundings. It was a small room with a single table in the middle and two chairs. Michael George was sitting in one of the chairs, which was bolted to the ground. He had his hands behind his back, restrained, and a chain on his legs keeping him in place.

The man looked… actually pretty bad. Bruce could tell he’d been beat up a few times recently. Likely due to the nature of his crimes. Most criminals didn’t take well to those involved in child prostitution.

Good.

Bastard should suffer for what he put Maxwell through.

“Mr. Wayne,” George said with a bit of venom in his voice.

Okay. So that’s how this is going to be.

“George,” Bruce greeted as he made his way to the empty chair across from the criminal.

They sat silently, just staring at each other. George looked at Bruce with a critical eye for several moments before seeming to relax and sink down into the chair.

Curious.

“I’m not going to pay you to sign those papers,” Bruce began abruptly, growing tired of the stare-off, “I will not do you any favors. If you don’t sign them, we’ll just petition the court to terminate your rights. If they don’t grant that, I’ll just adopt him the day he turns 18.”

George tensed a bit and shot Bruce a glare. He blinked. Then again. Then finally said, “When I heard it was you who took Max in, I got a bit nervous.”

Nervous? Why the hell-

“There are a lot of rumors about why you take in boys,” the criminal continued, “I just wanted to look you in the eyes and make sure your intentions were good.”

“Why?” Bruce demanded, “You don’t even care about him. You _sold_ him.”

George laughed and leaned forward.

Bruce’s blood began to boil. The man _laughed_ about what he had done.

Hitting George would not help Max.

“No, I didn’t,” George said with a sly smile, “I got him put into foster care. That’s what I did.”

“Only because Batman was there to save him,” Bruce shot back.

George scowled. Wow. Max looked so much like his father. “And how do you think Batman knew where to find us, huh?”

“I don’t have the slightest clue how Batman works,” Bruce said.

“He knew because I made sure word got around about the deal going down. I made sure the right people were let in on it and that the trail stayed warm so Batman would pick up on it and bust us. And, I made sure Batman was already there before I even met with the buyer.”

Bruce scoffed. How could this man, this low-rate criminal possibly think he _manipulated_ Batman into rescuing his son. “Keep telling yourself that, if that’s what helps you sleep at night.”

“I couldn’t take care of him,” George said, “I couldn’t even fucking afford to feed him enough. I’m a shit dad and he deserves so much better than me.”

“So, you contact CPS and ask for help, you don’t attempt to sell him for 15 thousand dollars,” Bruce spat.

Bruce really couldn’t relate to not being able to feed his children. He could empathize, sure, he really could, but there was no reason, no possible reason why it would ever be okay to _sell_ a child. Children were not objects to buy or sell. They were people. Tiny, autonomous, incredible people who deserved to be treated as such. Nothing ever justified treating them like objects.

“You don’t get it,” the young man snarled as he kicked at the leg of the table.

Bruce sat back and eyed the man. “Then explain it to me.”

“We fucked up,” George said, as if that explained everything.

“What else is new?” Bruce laughed.

“No, when he was born. We messed it up. We didn’t report it. I don’t even fucking know why. We had issues, okay? Always high or drunk. But we never got him a birth certificate or social security number or anything.”

Bruce nodded, he already knew Max had been kept off the records until CPS took custody of him, but he hadn’t been sure why.

“And when I went to jail for manslaughter my brother took him. I-“ George paused and the mood in the room shifted. Before it had been incredibly tense. Like a pot about to boil over. Now, though, it was somber. George was on the verge of crying.

Bruce was honestly surprised. He wasn’t expecting any emotion from this man.

“I should have said something, you know?” he whispered, “I should have told the court I had a secret kid, or something. Asked them to look after him. Taken the fall or whatever for it right then, but I didn’t. I thought my brother would take care of him and I could figure it all out later.”

Bruce stilled himself and kept his face completely blank. It wasn’t hard to do, he was used to hiding his emotions, or faking them, and he honestly wasn’t sure how he felt at the moment.

“He was his nephew!” George suddenly shouted, “His own nephew. _My Son,_ ” he snarled. “Just a child.”

The only thing Bruce could do was nod. He’d had a lot of the same thoughts. Whenever Max flinched at sudden touch. _’He was just a child.'_ When he cried in the middle of the night and Bruce couldn’t go comfort him because he’d only make it worse. ' _How could anyone hurt him?'_ Whenever he shut down on a good day because a friend came to visit he wasn’t expecting. ' _What kind of sick monster found pleasure in hurting children like that?'_

This wasn’t the conversation he was expecting to have with George. Either the man was an excellent actor, or he really was upset by the horrors Max had faced while he was in prison. And, Bruce had learned more about Max’s past in these ten minutes chatting with the boys’ father than he had learned in the nine months he had known the boy.  Huh.

“If you weren’t okay with what Max was forced to do, why would you risk selling him back into that?” Bruce asked accusingly.

“I told you,” George shot back, “Batman was there. I made sure of it.”

“But why that path?” Bruce pressed, “Why not just contact CPS yourself.” It made no sense. Why would he risk putting Max through more horrors if there was a much easier way to get the child into foster care. If that was the goal, why take the risk?

“If I turned him in myself, I’d be arrested.”

Bruce blinked. That made… no sense. “If your goal was to not be arrested, your plan was stupid.”

“No. I knew I was going to be arrested regardless of how I went about it. Might as well drag someone down with me, right? Destroy the child prostitution business in Gotham.”

“The charges you would have faced for keeping Max a secret would have been far less than what you’re facing for human trafficking,” Bruce pointed out. George was an idiot. Even if Bruce believed this bullshit story, which he didn’t, it made no sense.

“I would have lost my parole and spent the rest of Max’s childhood in prison, anyway.”

“But you wanted him in foster care.”

“Yes,” George said impatiently, “Because I couldn’t take care of him. If there was a way to do this and not go to jail, I would have done that. I would have worked on providing Max a stable home. I do actually care about my son, Mr. Wayne.”

Bruce rolled his eyes. “I have yet to see actual evidence of that.”

“Look. I did what I had to. I knew once they found out about Max, they’d look into where he’s been these past five years. Then they’d discover that I beat my brother to a bloody pulp and put a bullet in his face. I’m probably never getting out of jail again. Should I have killed him? Probably not. Do I regret it? Nope.”

“So, you killed your brother because…” Bruce prodded.

“Because he touched my son,” George snapped, “What kind of a foster dad are you if you don’t know this already?”

“Max doesn’t talk about his past,” Bruce said patiently, “He’s seven and afraid to trust people. He’s spoken to one of my sons about it, but I’ve never heard the details.”

“How is he doing?” George asked suddenly, as if he just then remembered Bruce sees his son on a daily basis.

“Better,” Bruce replied, a small smile tugging on his lips, “He still has a long way to go. I think he knows in his head none of us will hurt him. He trusts us with his head, but sometimes his instincts take over and he panics.”

“I had to tell him every day,” George said, frowning, “every single day that he was my son and I loved him. That I would never hurt him. I’m not sure he ever truly believed me.”

“And in the end, you proved to him he couldn’t trust you,” Bruce said coldly. How much damage had this man done to Max? Telling the boy he was loved just to stab him in the back? Was Max afraid Bruce would do the same thing? Surely not. Hopefully he saw the older boys Bruce had and realized that Bruce was not the same as his father.

“He had to hate me. If he didn’t hate me, if he thought I still loved him, he’d never integrate into a new family. He wouldn’t move on. I’m not getting out of jail any time soon. Probably never. He needs a family. He deserves a family.” With each sentence, George’s voice grew softer, sadder.

“Well, he does hate you, so you succeeded.”

George nodded. “Your family,” he began, making eye contact with Bruce, “is it a good one? Are they good for Max?”

“Yeah,” Bruce said, “everyone loves Max, and he seems so happy with us. He hated his first foster family, but he’s told me many times he loves living with us. Three of my four boys are adopted, you know? We’re not a traditional family, but we’re still a family, and Max fell right into place. He’s a natural little brother. He picks on my youngest like I’ve never seen. Damian has never allowed the older boys to tease him the way Max does, and Damian has really softened since Max came around. So yes, I think the family is good for Max, but I also think Max is good for the family.”

“I just want him to be happy,” George confessed.

“He is.”

“And you’ll take care of him?” the younger man pressed.

“Yes. I love him like a son already. Adopting him is just a formality, at this point.”

The criminal nodded. “He’s a good kid. A smart kid. He deserves so much more than what I’ve given him.”

“He’s an amazing kid,” Bruce agreed with a smile. Max really was an incredible kid and Bruce was better for knowing the child. He was actually starting to feel bad the child’s father wouldn’t get to watch him grow up or participate in raising the boy. Bruce was starting to believe that maybe he did actually care about his son, after all.

“Okay,” George said softly, not meeting Bruce’s gaze.

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Okay?”

“Send your lawyer back. I’ll sign the papers.”

Elation. That’s what Bruce felt. Pure happiness, absolute joy. Was Michael George really allowing the adoption? Giving Bruce his blessing?

“Really?” he asked, shocked it had been so easy.

“Yeah, really.” Michael responded, looking down at the table between them, “I can tell I was wrong about you. I just want Max to be happy and loved, that’s it.”

“Thank you,” Bruce said, unable to keep the grin off his face. He wasn’t actually expecting to be successful with this meeting. He couldn’t wait to tell Max. Once the papers were actually signed, of course.

He stood to leave the room. Just as he was about to knock on the door to be let out, Michael spoke up, stopping him in his tracks.  “Don’t tell him.”

“What?” Bruce asked, confused.

“That I love him. Or any of what I told you. Let him keep hating me.”

Bruce wasn’t going to tell Max, anyway, but the request still hurt. Bruce knew what it felt like to have his sons hate him. He knew the pain of resigning himself to never having a relationship with one of his children again. Granted, he had been able to fix it with each of his boys, even Jason, who he thought was a lost cause. Or, at least, he was on the way to fixing it with Jason, but he still remembered the pain, nonetheless.

He nodded, agreeing to the man’s request. He paused once more, just before knocking. “I can send you pictures. If you want,” Bruce said quickly, “of him growing up. School plays. Birthdays. That sort of thing.”

“Yeah,” Michael said with a small smile, “I’d really like that.”

“Okay.”

Bruce knocked on the door and was let out of the room and led out of the prison. He texted his lawyer about the meeting, requesting the man get the papers signed as soon as possible, then began the drive home.

It felt like his entire world had just shifted. He still thought Michael George’s logic was flawed and he took far too many risks with Max’s wellbeing, but in the end his goals were noble.

That was a word he never expected to use to describe the man.

Bruce was actually thankful toward the man. If it weren’t for him, he’d never have met Max. Max wouldn’t be in his life.

He thought back to that skinny little flash kid he’d seen all those months ago stealing bread. The skeptical, nervous, untrusting little kid who could never seem to decide whether to mouth off or cower in Bruce’s presence, so he’d switch between the two like a teeter totter. They’d come so far since then.

Max was such a good kid, and soon he’d be Bruce’s.

_Maxwell Wayne._

It had a nice ring to it.

Bruce smiled the whole way home.


	24. Official

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was the fourth time Bruce had gone through the adoption process. That didn't mean it wasn't a big deal.

Adoption paperwork had never been so easy for Bruce. Well, Dick’s adoption was pretty easy, once he had turned 18 and was old enough to just consent without needing the court’s approval, but that was beside the point. 

Despite how easy it was to push the paperwork through, Bruce still wasn’t able to have it finalized before Max’s birthday. The kid knew, vaguely, that Bruce was working on the adoption, but no one had told him that it was pretty much a sure thing at that point. 

In fact, all that was left was having a judge sign off on it. The procedures were never allowed that far if there was a problem with the application. Being denied by the judge was pretty much unheard of once it had passed through social services, so when Bruce received a court date of the day after Max’s birthday, he knew they were home free. 

Max’s birthday, conveniently, fell on a Sunday that year. It made it easy to celebrate on the actual day and make as big of a deal out of the kid as possible. 

“Look what I found,” Jason announced as he skipped into the dining room for breakfast carrying Max on his back, piggyback style, “It’s a birthday boy.” 

“Bruce!” Max shouted, as if Bruce weren’t five feet away, “Did you know Jason is here?”

“I did. Happy birthday, son.” 

Max beamed, then squealed, “Are those chocolate chip pancakes?” He leapt off Jason’s back and took a seat in front of a massive pile of the rare sugary breakfast item. 

“Indeed, Master Maxwell. Your favorite. Happy birthday,” Alfred said with a gentle smile.

“All right,” Max grinned, “Thanks Alfie!” 

As each boy came in for breakfast, everyone repeated the birthday wishes for a bright-eyed Max. Bruce had never seen the kid smile so widely and so genuinely, which was strange since Max smiled a lot. 

As the morning went on, everyone began preparing for the birthday party. It all was making Bruce kind of antsy. They’d had birthday parties for the boys in the past, sure, but they had always been smaller. Usually only close friends were invited, Justice League members or teen titans. Never twenty second graders. It was making Bruce nervous. 

Of course, everyone invited showed up. At first, Bruce had assumed it was because the _parents_ didn’t want to miss an opportunity to visit Wayne Manor, but as each kid arrived he realized that Max had a lot of friends. 

“Clark,” Bruce greeted accusingly when the alien showed up at the front door. 

“Hey, B,” the boy scout said, handing Bruce a present. 

Bruce accepted the gift bag, which was expressly labeled to Max and not the emergency children’s shelter Max had chosen from a list of organizations Bruce compiled. Not only was it expected among their social peers to raise money or items for charity during a birthday party, but with the entire Wayne family buying him gifts, he’d be overwhelmed with presents. There was no need to add 20 or so more gifts from classmates. 

“Ms. Lane,” he said, much cheerier, taking her hand and giving it a kiss, “always a pleasure.”

“Mr. Wayne. Always a charmer,” she said with a sly smile. 

“And you must be Jon,” Bruce said, kneeling down to shake Jon’s hand at his level. 

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Wayne,” Jon said with a sweet smile, “Thank you for inviting us.” 

Bruce raised an eyebrow at Clark, who simply said, “Dick invited us.” 

“Of course he did.” Bruce should have known better than to trust Dick with the invite list. Actually, Alfred should have known better, but knowing the older man he was probably in on inviting Clark. The alien had been pushing to introduce the boys for a while. 

Bruce led Jon to where Damian and Max were and introduced the boys with a few short words. Even without saying anything along the lines of “this is Superman’s son,” both of Bruce’s boys caught on immediately when they heard the last name ‘Kent.’

After mingling with the parents for a while and saying a little speech bragging on Max before they all sang “Happy Birthday,” Bruce found a quiet corner to stand back and observe Max interacting with his friends while they all ate far too much cake than was probably healthy. 

“You’re a danger to be in public, Kent,” Damian hissed from just around the corner. 

“What?” a child, presumably Jon Kent, demanded.

“Tt,” Damian huffed, “You have no control over your powers. You should not be around so many children.” 

“My-my powers? W-what are you talking about?”

“Please, alien spawn, I am not an idiot. I cannot be my father’s son without having basic deduction skills, and I have heard plenty about your issues.” 

Bruce took a deep breath and turned to confront his idiot child. 

“Wait. Your dad is...” Jon said just as Bruce rounded the corner and spotted Bruce. “No way,” he exclaimed, eyes wide. 

Damian rolled his eyes. “Well, no one will ever accuse you of being smart.”

“ _Boys,_ ” Bruce hissed into each boys ears, “this is not the place to be having this discussion. If you must, take it downstairs.” 

“Really, Father?” Damian asked, hopefully. 

“Yes, but be back in twenty minutes to wish the guests goodbye.” 

“Come on, Kent,” Damian demanded as he ran off down the hall toward the cave entrance.

“Of course you beat me to hushing them,” Clark laughed from behind Bruce.

“We shouldn’t have introduced them so publically,” Bruce observed, shooting Clark a glare. 

“Hey, I’m not the one who prevented that,” Clark said honestly. True. Bruce probably shouldn’t have dragged his feet about it. 

“Hrn,” Bruce grunted. “They’ll be good for each other.”

“Just like us,” Clark said, grinning. 

Bruce started walking down the halls back to where Max was playing with his classmates. Clark quickly caught up and fell in step with the older man. 

“So how did Max take the revelation?” Clark asked after a moment of silence.

Bruce smiled at the memory of ‘telling’ Max he was Batman. “He already knew.”

Clark gaped and asked, disbelieving, “Really? How do children keep figuring this out?”

“Well, Tim did all the hard work himself. Max is just smart enough to read between the lines when the boys are arguing at dinner.” 

“Ah,” Clark said, laughing, “So you have the boys to blame.” 

“He figured you out without their help.”

“What?” Clark exclaimed, “Are you serious?” 

“Yep,” Bruce said, suppressing a smug smile, “That day you came to meet him, he figured it out at dinner.” 

“I guess if you don’t want Max knowing someone’s secret, don’t invite them to dinner with the kid.” 

“He’s a smart boy,” Bruce agreed. 

They finally found Max in the formal dining room, playing that Apples game with a few of his friends. Bruce couldn’t help but smile at how hard Max was laughing every time a new card was read aloud.

“How do you keep finding such great kids?” Clark asked rhetorically. 

Bruce looked over at his friend and said, “I don’t, Clark. They find me.”

 

It took an hour to kick all the guests out. Bruce had set the evening aside for a family dinner and the opening of Max’s gifts. The Kents stayed at Bruce’s invitation. Jon and Damian had really hit it off, apparently, despite the fact that half of what they said to each other was shouting and insults. At any rate, Bruce didn’t want to cut the playdate short. 

Max opened all his presents, one by one, from everyone but Bruce. He got a huge variety of items. Mostly puzzles, books, and super hero merchandise. Along with a superman hoody, Clark got the kid a poster of the Flash, signed by Barry Allen himself. 

Clark was officially Max’s second favorite hero, as he proclaimed. 

“What?” Jason shouted in response, “No way, kiddo. Just wait, I’ll top that and be right back to my #2 spot. Just you wait.” 

“If it helps, Jay,” Max said, “You’re still my favorite bat.” 

“It doesn’t,” Jason pouted.

“Okay,” Bruce interrupted, “Time for my gift. It’s in the living room.”

Max hopped up excitedly and raced to the living room, closely followed by Bruce and the entire family. 

In the center of the living room floor, where a coffee table had been moved to make room for the gift, was a large box simply wrapped. 

“Carefully pull off the lid, Max,” Bruce said right before the kid tried to rip it open. 

Max did as he was told and gently pulled the lid off, then he gasped. “A puppy,” he squealed, carefully lifting the animal out of the box. 

The dog took right to Max, excitedly licking at his face. Max sat down on the ground with it and started letting it climb all over him. “I love him!”

“I’m glad. He’s a German Shepherd so he’ll be big when he’s all grown.” 

“Wait till you meet Titus,” he said to the puppy. 

Damian joined Max on the ground and started petting the dog. He looked up at Bruce and said, “Father, can I have a puppy for my birthday?”

“No,” Bruce replied quickly. Damian already had a dog. He didn’t need another. One puppy in the house would be plenty, for the time. 

Damian scowled and said “But-”

“No,” Bruce asserted.

“Humph,” Damian pouted, then asked Max, “What will you name him?”

Max picked the puppy back up and hugged him. “I was thinking Marcus.” 

That caused Damian to drop his pout and grin. “You’ve read Shakespeare.” 

“Of course, I have,” Max exclaimed, “and what better name for Titus’ doggy brother than Marcus?”

“You are acceptable, Maxwell. I am glad we are keeping you.” 

“Aww, Damian,” Dick gushed. 

“Shut your face, Grayson.” 

Bruce let out a laugh, then addressed Max, “One last thing to tell you.”

“Oh?” the kid said with peaked curiosity. Everyone else in the room also looked to Bruce and away from the boys playing with the puppy. 

“Tomorrow, we’re going before a judge,” Bruce said.

Max scrunched his brow in confusion. “What?”

“To finalize the adoption,” Bruce clarified.

That caused Max to jump up, startling the puppy. Damian picked the dog up to comfort it while Max shouted, “Really?” at the top of his lungs, because that level of volume was necessary. 

Bruce cringed at the noise, then asked, “Is that okay?”

Max ran over and gave Bruce a hug. “Yes,” he shouted again, this time right in Bruce’s ear. “So, you’ll be my dad?” he asked, quieter this time.

Bruce returned the hug. “Yep, officially and forever.”

Max let go and beamed up at Bruce, “Will my last name change?”

“Would you like it to?”

“Yes yes yes yes yes,” he sang, doing a silly little dance around the living room. “Dami,” he shouted, “We’re going to have the same name!”

“I know,” Damian said, rolling his eyes, still playing with Marcus. After a moment of hesitation, he added, “Wayne.”

Max ran over and gave Damian a hug from behind. “This is so great.” 

“I’m glad you think so,” Bruce said. 

“I think Max wins ‘most excited’ response to finding out he’s being adopted,” Tim observed. 

“Ha,” Jason said sarcastically, “and loudest, for sure.” 

\----

The adoption went smoothly. Max was over the moon all morning leading to the meeting with the Judge. Once they were inside the Judge’s office, he was nothing but smiles. Bruce was impressed he was able to stop giggling long enough to answer the Judge’s questions. 

It only took about ten minutes, then everyone signed the papers, and it was officially. 

“Maxwell Allan Wayne,” Judge Schneider said, “Congratulations.” 

“Yay,” Max squealed, hugging onto Bruce, “this is the best day of my life.” 

All the boys had attended, so Bruce had them all join them for the picture with the judge, a tradition in adoptions. Now Bruce had a picture of him and each of his adopted boys with the judges who granted the adoption. He couldn’t wait to hang the one with Max on the wall. He should find a good picture to reflect Damian joining the family to complete the set.

“How does it feel?” Dick asked as they were leaving the courthouse.

“So great. I can’t believe it,” he said in awe, “We’re brothers now.” 

“We already were, kiddo,” Jason corrected.

The boys started jabbing at each other in good nature, their conversation and playful bickering interrupted by laughter constantly as Bruce took them all out for ice cream. It was great to see all five of them getting along and just being brothers.

How had they gotten to this point? Bruce wondered. His family was happy. He was happy.

Who knew all it would take was buying a street kid a sandwich?

Bruce ruffled his youngest son’s hair and said, “I love you, Max.” 

“Love you too, Dad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh. I did it. So sorry it took so long, but I finished! The epilogue is already written, so it'll be up soon. I just want to read back over it and see if I wanted to add anything. 
> 
> If you didn't catch it, I posted a one shot in this AU called "Babysitting," so go check that out if you want to learn a bit more about Max and Jason's relationship. It's the next work in this series. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!


	25. Epilogue

Two years went by faster than Bruce wanted. Tim had moved out permanently not long after turning 19, citing it was a bad image for the CEO of Drake Industries to be living at home with his dad. It was hard enough for him to gain the respect he deserved for being so young. Bruce missed him, but thankfully the boy was over often for dinner, along with his two older brothers.

In fact, for young men who did not live there, his oldest sons were over a lot. Not that Bruce was complaining.

Summer had become Bruce’s favorite season. Damian and Maxwell were on school break, meaning taking a vacation was easy and didn’t require permission from the administration. Why he had to ask for permission to take his own sons somewhere was still ridiculous to Bruce, but school was important so he didn’t argue with the policy much. Besides, Maxwell adored school, and Damian had seemed to warm to the idea over the past few years. At least he didn’t despise it any longer.

This summer marked three full years since Bruce had met Maxwell. The precocious little kid had turned into a remarkable 10 year old, and Bruce couldn’t imagine his life without the child. No. Bruce wasn’t even sure how they managed before they had him, he was such an integral part of the family.

Bruce left work early on the Friday before the family’s trip to Disney World. Neither Max nor Damian had ever been. Tim had never been with Bruce, and Jason and Dick hadn’t been since Jason was 13. The trip was long overdue, and everyone was excited about it, even if too-cool-for-Disney Damian was pretending to not care. When Bruce walked through the front door of the manor at 2 PM, it was a surprise. He was not expected home until dinner time.

“Dad!” Max greeted when Bruce found him and Damian in the living room playing chess, “You’re home early!” Bruce caught Max when he leapt up for a hug. Even though the kid had been doing it for two years, it still made him smile whenever Max called him ‘Dad.’

“Yeah, I got my work done sooner than expected,” Bruce said, releasing Max so the boy could call back to the floor. Bruce walked over to the chess set sitting on the coffee table and sat on the floor beside it. Max rejoined Damian and started contemplating his next move. “Are you boys packed for our trip?”

Damian smiled at his father and answered, “Yes, Pennyworth ensured our bags were packed properly this morning.” When it was his turn, Damian moved his knight closer to Max’s king. “Check.”

“Oh no! Don’t kill our king, please!” Max mock pleaded as he knocked the knight over with his queen. “Haha mine now!”

Damian smiled wide and moved his castle. “Check mate.”

“What,” Max , “oh man I did not see that.”

“Pay attention,” Damian said, “you have to think ahead.”

Max rolled his eyes and flicked his king over, causing Bruce to laugh. He patted Max on the back in consolation and asked, “What did you boys do all day?”

“We built a batmobile out of Legos,” Max said, smiling wide now, “Want to see?”

“Maxwell built it,” Damian corrected.

“Damian helped me figure out the motor. It really drives! I have a remote for it and everything, come see!” Max hopped up and grabbed onto Bruce’s hand, pulling him toward the door. Bruce stood up and allowed Max to drag him.

Bruce found himself standing at the door to Max’s room. Even though the child had been living with them for over 2 1/2 years, he still didn’t trust people in his room. That was fine. Bruce understood. Everyone understood. Maxwell’s room was his sanctuary. He felt safe in there, and no one wanted to take that away from him. So when Max let go of Bruce’s hand to open his bedroom door, Bruce waited outside for the child to retrieve the creation he was so proud of.

“Dad are you coming?” Max asked a minute later from deep inside the room.

Bruce blinked. He was being invited inside.

Fighting back the urge to cry, he pushed the door further open and hesitantly stepped inside. Max was sitting on the ground near the window on the far wall, messing with a remote. Bruce walked over and knelt down on the opposite side of the toy car from Max and inspected it.

“You built this?” Bruce sat completely down and crossed his legs, then gingerly picked up the car to admire.

“Yeah! Look, I even put a lego Bat family in there. See look,” Max said while opening the cabin of the toy car in Bruce’s hands to reveal a bunch of Lego people inside, “there’s you and Damian and Dick and Jason and Tim and me!”

“This is really cool, son. You said it can drive?”

“Yeah, but I can’t get the stupid remote to work. It was doing this earlier and Dami fixed it, but I don’t know how.” Max frowned and stood up. He retrieved a lego tool kit from his dresser and walked over to Bruce. Quicker than the man could process what was happening, Max plopped himself down in Bruce’s lap and held the remote up so Bruce could see it. “These wires connect to the power supply,” he said pointing at the inner workings of the remote, “and these ones connect the buttons to the circuit board”

Bruce had to wipe tears from his eyes with his sleeves so he could see what Max was pointing out. He knew Max had made significant progress in his recovery in the past few years. He no longer flinched when someone got too close to him, and had even curled up next to Bruce and his older brothers a few times on the couch. He initiated hugs now, and gladly accepted them from his family. He was still timid around strange adult men in the house, but didn’t freak out.

Even though he fully trusted the adults in the family to not harm him, his subconscious worked against him sometimes and caused him to shut down and retreat to his room when someone got too close when he was not expecting it.

But this. This was new, and it caused Bruce to swell with pride and happiness. Max didn’t even seem to notice the rush of emotions he was causing his father to feel.

“Dad?” Max said, turning so he could look at the man’s face. “Can you fix it?” Max scrunched his eyebrows quizzically and examined his father. Bruce looked at his bright hazel eyes and could see the happy child behind them. No pain. No fear. Just the precious eyes of his baby. Tears welled up again and Bruce had to wipe them free once more.

Max frowned. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Bruce choked with an awkward laugh. “I am so proud of you.”

The child’s expression softened as he smiled and said “I know. Why are you crying?”

“They are happy tears.” Bruce wrapped his arms around his son and squeezed. Max leaned into the embrace and grinned. After kissing the child’s hair, Bruce let go and allowed Max to sit back around.

“Can you help me fix this?” Max asked, returning his attention to his contraption.

Bruce laughed and wrapped his arms around his child to take the controller. Max watched closely as Bruce fiddled with each wire. “I think the circuit board is shot, son. There’s nothing wrong with these connections, and if the battery isn’t dead then it’s the board.”

“Oh. I don’t have another.”

“There’s a LEGO store at Disney World. Tell you what, bring the batmobile and we will go buy a new one while we are there and fix it then. Sound like a deal?”

Max hopped up to put the toy on top of his suitcase, apparently accepting the solution, then he got busy pulling out other lego creations he’d made and began showing them each to Bruce, since the man had never been in his room to see them.

And while he watched his son show off his work, Bruce smiled. In less than 24-hours, all five of his boys would be with him on a plane while they all went out to spend an entire week together crammed into one suite.

Between sharing meals together every day, trekking around the parks together, and just hanging around the suite, he was going to get more family time in the next week than he ever thought he’d get since that horrible day in the alley when he was eight.

And thinking about each of his boys, each who had also thought they’d never have family again, whether it be because they had been orphaned or because they just weren’t raised to believe in family, Bruce couldn’t help but smile. They were such a weird little- well not so little- family. Unconventional, with a strange family hobby, but they were Bruce’s family.

That made them perfect.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I wrote and rewrote this a dozen times, and I'm still not entirely satisfied, but I decided to just publish it and call it done. I may go through and revise quite a bit of this story eventually, but for now I'm calling it done! 
> 
> This has been quite fun to write, and I thank each of you who stuck with me, subscribed, left kudos, left comments, etc. It was the first fanfic I ever wrote, which helped reignite my passion for writing fiction, which had died after college. So thank you for all your kind word and everything. <3 
> 
> Also, I put a drawing at the bottom of the chapter that I did one day when I was bored. This isn't my style of art, so it's not like good or anything, but it makes me happy to see a family picture including Max so I thought I'd share it.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](https://cdelphiki.tumblr.com)


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